


the earth in its turning stopped

by pyrophane



Series: only then i learned my new days [1]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Enemies to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Minor Violence, Pining, Polyamory Negotiations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 06:36:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12525252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrophane/pseuds/pyrophane
Summary: Spring semester brings with it both Choi Seungcheol and the imminent end of the world, plunging Jisoo’s life into a whirlpool of magic, monsters, and trying not to fall in love. It’s a good thing he has Jeonghan there to steady him—or maybe not.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so apparently i cope with exam stress by getting into a brand new fandom and immediately churning out like 20k of tropey ot3 fic!
> 
> the supernatural elements here are based on lj smith’s night world series (the plot very loosely follows that of _witchlight_ ). you don’t need to know anything about it to understand this fic, though, and i’ve tweaked bits of lore to suit the plot. tagged ships are endgame but i generally operate on the basis that everyone is kind of in love with each other. most of this fic is already written, so i’ll be posting each chapter as i polish it up! also, this is very different from my usual writing style and content, so any feedback would be doubly appreciated ❤
> 
> andrea if you’re reading this 1) i love you 2) this is your fault

 

 

 

 

  
“You look like death,” Jeonghan says cheerfully. “Coffee’s in the pot. Did you sleep badly?”

Jisoo trudges to the kitchen, sidestepping the teetering piles of textbooks Jeonghan’s left scattered all over the place like some sort of academic minefield. “Yeah,” he says. “I had a weird dream or something? There was a guy—”

“Oh?” Jeonghan brightens, sitting up and propping his chin on a hand, and Jisoo rolls his eyes.

“Not _that_ kind of dream, we were just talking or something. But I swear I’ve never seen him before.” Even as he’s speaking the image fragments and dissolves away, leaving only a vague jumble of sense memory, impressions of light and sound. The swoop of someone’s jawline in the weakening light, the sharp scent of crushed pine needles. A voice saying—something. He can’t remember. He hopes it wasn’t anything important. “I’d know him if I saw him again, though. I think.”

“Was he hot?”

“Hm? Oh—I don’t know? I just…” Jisoo frowns. Sets the kettle back down. A phantom ache presses at his throat like an old bruise. “It felt like—it felt like I did know him, though. In the dream.” Inexplicably, he finds himself blinking away pinpricks of heat behind his eyes. “Or that I should.”

“Sounds to me like it was ‘that kind of dream’,” Jeonghan says, brandishing an accusatory pen at him. “Maybe it’s the universe’s way of telling you that you need to get out more. You should come to Seungkwan’s on Friday.” Like most things Jeonghan says, it’s less of an invitation and more of a command.

“I’ll probably have a ton of assignments to do,” Jisoo tries.

Jeonghan dismisses this with an airy wave. “It’s the first week of term. Assignments can wait until the weekend.”

Jisoo resigns himself to spending Saturday morning recovering from the aftershocks of one of Seungkwan’s infamous social gatherings. He downs the rest of the coffee in his mug in contemplative misery. “You’re such a bad influence,” he says. “What would my mother say?”

“She would congratulate you on your wise decision to follow the advice of your charming best friend, of course. What’s your first class today?”

“Economics lecture with Professor Hwang,” Jisoo says.

Jeonghan makes a sympathetic noise. Professor Hwang is well-known even across faculties for her ridiculously difficult grading curve as well as her total indifference to excuses for turning in assignments late. “Tough luck,” he says.

“Maybe she’ll go easy on us, since it’s the first semester and all.” It doesn’t even sound convincing to his own ears. Jeonghan gives him a pitying look. “What do you have?”

“No class for me this morning. Also, I’ve got a family thing, so I won’t be there at lunch either. Tell the others for me?”

“Text them yourself,” Jisoo says, knowing that Jeonghan won’t.

“You’re the best,” Jeonghan says. He crowds Jisoo up against the kitchenette counter and wraps his arms around him, sighing into the hollow between Jisoo’s neck and shoulder. It isn’t anything Jeonghan hasn’t done before, but Jisoo’s heartbeat kicks into overdrive when Jeonghan pulls away; Jisoo chalks it up to the general feeling of off-key strangeness induced by the dream, and puts it out of his mind. “See you at four in the library!”

 

 

 

 

 

Jisoo arrives at the lecture theatre early, so he heads up to the seats near the top and stakes out a spot there as he waits for the rest of the class to arrive. A few minutes later, Seokmin walks in; he grins when he spots him and starts towards Jisoo’s section, and Jisoo breathes a quick sigh of relief. It’s always nice having someone he knows in his classes to forestall any awkward partner-matching scenarios on group assignments.

“Hey, Jisoo! How are you?”

“Pretty good. You?”

“Yeah, I’m great!” Social niceties now concluded, they turn their attention back to front of the theatre. This is a bit uncharitable of Jisoo, because Seokmin is a genuinely nice, easygoing person capable of making small talk out of anything; it’s more that Jisoo’s general conversational skills are not quite up to par, and Seokmin doesn’t deserve to be subjected to that.

Unluckily for Jisoo, Soonyoung is the next person to walk through the doors, because this means that Seokmin and Soonyoung will be attached at the hip for the remainder of the semester as they gaze soulfully into each other’s eyes, so Jisoo is back to square one on the partnered assignments front. But really, who is he to get in the way of the pure bonds of deepest friendship or true love or whatever it is those two have going on?

More people trickle in, in varying states of alertness. Jisoo checks his phone, which is blinking with seventy-odd unread notifications, probably courtesy of Junhui’s habit of uploading anecdotes with a strict one-word-per-message quota. And it just so happens that Jisoo glances over at the door when someone in particular walks in and the air electrifies, and Jisoo jolts upright like he’s been shocked, hot and cold flashes running down his spine. He squints at the boy from the side. He has a warm, open kind of face, one that looks like smiling comes naturally to it. His gaze flickers up towards Jisoo’s corner of the room and Jisoo’s heart lodges like a splinter in his throat, because—it’s the boy from his dream. He’d know him anywhere. Knows it with an iron surety suffusing him right down to the bone, something deeper than instinct, a magnetic aligning of pole to pole, and he’s pretty sure he stops breathing when their eyes finally, _finally_ meet.

Seconds inch by. Jisoo waits for—something, a spark of recognition, some gesture of acknowledgement—but the moment breaks and the guy blinks, turns away to take a seat near the front of the theatre, and Jisoo slumps back down in his seat. His pulse is going double time in his ears. There’s an odd metallic taste at the back of his throat, like rust, or old blood. He’s not sure why he’s so disappointed.

“Hey, dude, you okay?” Jisoo starts. Beside him, Seokmin’s gazing at him in obvious concern.

Jisoo has no idea what his face looks like right now, but he makes a concerted effort to smooth his expression into something less alarming. “Yeah,” he says. “Just thought I saw someone I knew.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Choi Seungcheol,” Junhui declares, sliding into the booth opposite Jisoo’s table with a careless, catlike grace utterly out-of-place in the university food court, and sparkling at Jisoo. For the span of about one-and-a-half seconds, Jisoo is in love. It’s an occupational hazard of being friends with Junhui. You can’t help but fall briefly in love with him every time you see him, something about the combination of the exceptionally handsome face and the way he moves like he’s dancing, though the sentiment is usually shattered the moment he opens his mouth.

“Not my name, last time I checked,” Jisoo says.

“That would be because you aren’t Hansol’s cousin, the one who just moved here. Spring semester transfer. Is Jeonghan not here yet?”

“Oh, yeah, Hansol mentioned something about that,” Jisoo says. “And Jeonghan’s got, and I quote, ‘a family thing’, so he’s not coming.”

“Anyway, Choi Seungcheol is in your economics lecture,” Junhui continues, undeterred. “Also, his blood type is AB and he’s a Leo.” Jisoo spares a moment to reflect on the likelihood that he’s stumbled into a friendship with the head of an underground information brokering enterprise. There’s no point asking, because Junhui will just smile beatifically at him before segueing into another subject. “Also, he just walked into the food court. Red jacket. Right behind you.”

With a sinking sort of dread, Jisoo glances over his shoulder and sure enough, it is indeed the guy from his economics lecture, flanked by two extremely tall boys and looking endearingly puffy in an oversized red coat as he laughs at something the taller one says. His entire face lights up when he smiles, and—he has dimples. The thought that Choi Seungcheol is quite literally the man of his dreams presents itself to him. Jisoo groans and lowers his head onto the table.

Junhui laughs, petting Jisoo’s hair. “Hey, what’s with this reaction?”

“It’s weird,” Jisoo mumbles. He lifts his head. “I had this, like, dream about him last night, before I actually met him? Or knew he existed? And now he’s showing up in real life everywhere I go. I’m still trying to come to terms with it.”

“Ooh.” Junhui leans closer. “What kind of dream are we talking?”

“Not you too, I just had this talk with Jeonghan.” Junhui’s eyebrows go haywire. “What are you, twelve? No, seriously, I can barely even remember it, but I’m pretty sure we were just in the woods or something. There were trees. He said something to me.”

“Sounds romantic!” Junhui says.

“It really wasn’t,” Jisoo says. His throat aches again, heavy with some undefinable emotion. He frowns. Swallows past it.

“Well, Leo and Capricorn aren’t a very conventional match, but it could work,” Junhui muses. “And both of you are Pig signs, which is—oh, that’s super compatible, actually—”

“I don’t know why you thought this information would be helpful,” Jisoo says.

“The things that come out of Jun-hyung’s mouth are rarely helpful,” Minghao says, setting his tray down next to Junhui’s and taking a seat. Junhui swats at his shoulder in mock offense and immediately starts appropriating Minghao’s lunch.

“Jisoo’s been seeing portents in his dreams,” Junhui says, through a mouthful of stolen dumpling.

“Has he now,” Minghao says. “Also, if you’re that hungry, buy your own lunch instead of freeloading off mine.”

“I’m confiscating these as reparations for your extremely hurtful comments about the moving pearls of wisdom I bestow upon the world,” Junhui says, taking another dumpling from Minghao’s plate.

“Hansol probably showed me a photo back when he told me he was coming and I forgot, that’s all,” Jisoo says. “Nothing supernatural about it.”

“Don’t discount your latent psychic powers so easily!” Junhui says. “Why don’t you go talk to him?”

“And what, tell him I dreamed about him?” Jisoo says. “Fantastic icebreaker. I’m sure that would go down well.”

“Please don’t do that, hyung,” Minghao says.

“I think he’s looking over this way,” Junhui says. “Seize the day, Hong Jisoo!”

The only viable response to this is to let his forehead meet the table for the second time that day and feign sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

In the end, the first waking, corporeal interaction Jisoo has with Seungcheol happens thusly:

He’s walking back towards his apartment to pick up his things for his afternoon class, preoccupied by thoughts completely unrelated to Hansol’s extended family et al, thank you very much, when someone barrels into him with enough force to knock him over. One minute he’s upright, supporting his weight on his own two legs and minding his own business, the next he’s flat on his back and blinking up at a face he rather wishes wasn’t familiar.

“Holy shit, I am so sorry,” Choi Seungcheol says, peering down at him with his huge doe eyes, inhumanly long eyelashes fluttering in worry. He offers a hand, which Jisoo takes, and pulls Jisoo to his feet without Jisoo exerting any effort at all. Jisoo eyes his arms, hidden beneath his red coat. “You’re not—hurt, or anything?”

“All good,” Jisoo says, sweeping a hand up and down his torso. “No harm done.”

“Hey, you’re in my economics lecture, right?” There are a couple hundred people in Jisoo’s economics lecture; Jisoo is kind of impressed. “I’m Seungcheol.”

 _I know,_ Jisoo doesn’t say, because he really doesn’t have time to explain the enigma of Wen Junhui’s omniscience. “Jisoo,” he says instead. “I, um, know your cousin? Hansol.”

“Oh! Hansol’s talked about you before,” Seungcheol says, lighting up. Jisoo has to beat back the urge to shield his eyes.

“Only good things, I hope.” Is Jisoo flirting? When did Jisoo start flirting?

“Yeah, nothing to worry about there, Hansollie likes you a lot.” He laughs. “Again, I’m really sorry for knocking you down,” Seungcheol says. He thumbs at the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly. The dimple is even more distracting up close. “Let me make it up to you?”

Every thought in Jisoo’s head shears itself free from its moorings. “Ah,” he finds himself saying, “I’d love to, but I’ve got a class—” and the next thing he knows, he’s handing Seungcheol his phone so he can key in his contact details, still in possession of just enough presence of mind to be aware that this is an extremely bad idea given 1) Minghao’s uncanny ability to guess his passcode no matter how often he changes it, 2) Junhui’s lack of a moral compass when it comes to meddling in his friends’ personal lives, and 3) Minghao’s lack of a moral compass when it comes to Junhui.

“I’ll see you around!” Seungcheol calls. The dimple flashes again as he leaves. Jisoo looks down at his phone. Seungcheol’s saved his number under ‘choi seungcheol (guy who crashed into you, sorry!!)’, which is—cute? Everything about him is earnest, endearing; kind of like a golden retriever in human incarnation. Jisoo can feel a slew of oncoming bad decisions, but he’s only human. He pockets his phone and considers the farce that is his life right now. Then he swears and quickens his pace towards his apartment because he actually does have a class, and if he’s late he will make Seungcheol regret it.

 

 

 

 

 

Halfway through their daily afternoon study session, Jeonghan says, “So,” and without missing a beat he launches into a lengthy spiel about some girl in his psychology class, punctuating his words every now and again with violent, expansive gestures that have Jisoo carefully monitoring the water bottle perched precariously by his elbow. They’re at their usual table in the group space up the front of the library, its surface populated three-quarters by Jeonghan’s sprawl of miscellaneous scholarly paraphernalia and one-quarter by Jisoo’s laptop and singular textbook.

Jisoo tries his best to listen and make supportive noises in the right places. However, the familiar, soothing cadence of Jeonghan’s ranting keeps lulling him into letting his mind drift, which inevitably dashes his thoughts upon the shore of dream-invading boys with pretty smiles who luckily did not make him late for class, and he’s lost track of this metaphor but he would definitely like to drown himself. A powerful wave of despair washes over him.

“—Jisoo? Hey, Joshua Hong, are you there?”  
  
Jisoo blinks. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

“What’s got you so distracted that you can’t even pay attention to your best friend?” Jeonghan whines.

“Oh—nothing, it’s just—” Jeonghan raises an eyebrow. “Okay, fine, you know how I told you about that dream I had with some guy I’d never seen before? Well, he was in my economics lecture this morning. And he was in the food court while we were getting lunch. And he literally ran into me earlier, like, knocked me to the ground and everything.”

Jeonghan’s other eyebrow shoots towards his hairline. “Have you talked to him?”

“Not… really? Well, kind of, I guess. When he crashed into me he gave me his number.”

“Wow, you work fast! It must be fate,” Jeonghan declares. He’s smiling the kind of smile that sets off Jisoo’s fight-or-flight response, carefully honed over years of experience being railroaded into his schemes. Not that it’s typically a lot of help in the face of the tyrannically persuasive might of Yoon Jeonghan. “First you dream about the guy, then you run into him three times in a day? This is as clear a sign as they come, Shua.”

“We’ve had a grand total of one conversation.”

“So _is_ he hot?”

“Is that really your primary concern here.” Jeonghan’s smile broadens. “Yes, okay, he’s hot. He has, like, dimples, and a nice laugh.” And because the universe is conspiring against him, Jisoo catches a glimpse of bright red out of the corner of his eye. He shuts his eyes in defeat. “Oh, fuck, I think he just walked into the library.”

“What? Like, right here, right now?” Jeonghan has no right whatsoever to sound this delighted.

“Don’t _look_ —” Jeonghan nearly knocks over his chair twisting around to look. Jisoo sighs. “Well, anyway, he’s the one in the red coat, next to the two really tall guys. He’s Hansol’s cousin. Junhui said his name was—Choi Seungcheol?”

Jeonghan’s expression capsizes, souring so quickly it’s like a switch has been flipped. Jisoo bites back a smile. “ _Him?_ ” Jeonghan demands. “That’s the guy who was in your dream?”

“Do you know him or something?”  
  
A grimace. “More like I know _of_ him, but—yeah.”

“Not a fan, huh,” Jisoo teases. “He seemed nice when we spoke.”

“Our—families don’t get along.” Jeonghan’s tone is light, but he’s drumming his fingers against the table in the way he only does when he’s legitimately agitated.

“Hey,” Jisoo says, reaching over the table to still Jeonghan’s hand with his own. “Do you want to move somewhere else?”

“What?” Jeonghan fixes him with a look of exquisite incredulity, but his hand relaxes underneath Jisoo’s. “No! We were here first. If he’s bothered by me being here then _he_ can move.” His gaze drops to their hands, and he seems to realise at the same time Jisoo does that he still hasn’t let go. Jisoo retracts his hand as smoothly as possible, flexes his fingers. There’s a moment where they’re resolutely looking anywhere except at each other, and Jisoo can feel the tips of his ears burning, which is stupid, because it’s _Jeonghan,_ and they’ve only been friends for, what, ten years now?

Jeonghan clears his throat. When Jisoo looks back at him he’s smiling, a little rueful, and Jisoo can’t help but crack a smile in return, and the weird tension in the air dissipates like it was never there in the first place. He ignores the red at the edges of his field of vision, turns his attention back to the textbook as peals of bright, familiar laughter float over towards them. But by the end of the session, he hasn’t gotten much study done at all, and from the crease between Jeonghan’s brows when they pack up to leave, neither has he.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “When I said I wished I could have told you, I meant it,” Jeonghan says quietly.

 

 

 

 

 

“Jeon Wonwoo,” Junhui hisses, slamming his empty coffee cup down on the table with unwarranted vehemence, “is a scourge upon this earth. I hope he chokes. I hope he trips over his stupid long legs and _dies_.”

Minghao rolls his eyes. “He beat hyung in a review quiz this morning,” he informs them.

“My position at the top of this class has been and will continue to be undisputed,” Junhui says. “Random flukes by second-rate—second-rate _nobodies_ don’t count.”

They’re at a café today, the one Chan works at, because Jeonghan always ends up coercing him into giving them an employee discount when he’s on shift. Jisoo can’t say this agrees with his personal code of ethics, but Chan has a remarkable talent when it comes to wrangling Jeonghan, so Jisoo figures that if Chan’s livelihood really was on the line, he’d be able to put a stop to this blatant exploitation.

“Who is this, again?” Jisoo asks.

“One of Choi Seungcheol’s friends,” Jeonghan says, pulling a face.

“The shorter one,” Junhui says vengefully. “The bane of my existence.”

First Jeonghan’s vendetta against Seungcheol, now Junhui’s against Wonwoo. Jisoo looks at Minghao, wondering if he’s doomed to automatic enemyship with Seungcheol’s other friend. As if reading his mind, Minghao says, “Mingyu’s nice, I like him,” and takes a long sip of tea.

“Did you all meet up while I wasn’t there or something?” Jisoo says.

“Our families have… interacted in the past,” Minghao says.

“Right, you know _of_ each other,” Jisoo says. When this doesn’t elicit a smile from Jeonghan, he frowns. “You really don’t like Seungcheol, huh,” he says, nudging Jeonghan with his elbow.

“It’s just family stuff,” Jeonghan mutters. “You know how it is.”

“I didn’t have anything against Wonwoo until he personally fucked me over,” Junhui says. “Anyway, I’m sick of hearing about Wonwoo—”

“You were the one who brought him up,” Minghao points out.

“—so, Jisoo, I need you to know that you shouldn’t let Jeonghan’s blood feud get in the way of pursuing your… dreams. I’m sure Seungcheol is a perfectly nice person, even if he keeps terrible company.”

Jeonghan sits back, crossing his arms, and mutters something under his breath that Jisoo doesn’t catch. As he only has Professor Hwang’s class twice this week, Jisoo hasn’t really interacted with Seungcheol since their first meeting, outside of exchanging quick smiles when they pass each other on the way to class, too busy for anything more, the workload already ramping up. Seungcheol’s contact details sit in his phone, almost a physical weight. He likes Seungcheol well enough, strange dream interludes aside, but he also has a stubborn sense of loyalty that wants him to align himself to Jeonghan’s worldview just on principle.

“Hey,” Jisoo says, to Jeonghan. “For real, though—I don’t want to pry, but—is it serious? The problem you have with Seungcheol?”

“It isn’t—” Jeonghan’s mouth curls into a downward moue. “It’s not serious, or anything. I just—I don’t know. It’s—hard to explain.”

Jisoo can tell Jeonghan’s on the verge of shutting down, so he nods, and drops the subject.

 

 

 

 

 

The first assignment of the semester Professor Hwang sets them is a group presentation, because of course it is. Seokmin and Soonyoung immediately gravitate towards each other. Jisoo sighs and gathers his books, preparing to head to the front with all the other tragic partnerless individuals.

Someone taps on his shoulder, and Jisoo turns around. “Hey,” Seungcheol says. His ears are studded with helix piercings today, a delicate arrow-shaped charm dangling from his left earlobe, which is a detail Jisoo notes with complete neutrality. “Want to partner up?”

Jisoo casts a regretful glance at Seokmin, already deep in discussion with Soonyoung, heads bent together over a single laptop. “Sure, why not,” he says.

“Great!” Seungcheol says, looking genuinely delighted. Prolonged exposure to that smile is likely to be Jisoo’s cause of death. “When do you want to get started?”

“Let’s try and get it done as soon as possible,” Jisoo suggests. “I’m free right after the class, actually.”

“Works for me,” Seungcheol says. “Should we head to the library?”

Jisoo agrees. At the end of the class, Seungcheol’s waiting for him at the door and once again Jisoo is endeared despite himself. On the way to the library they chat about class, about the overlap between their friendship circles, about Seungkwan’s party later in the evening, and Jisoo’s surprised by how easy it is to talk to him, finds himself slipping into illustrating his point with gestures, a habit he usually tries to curb in front of unfamiliar people.

Seungcheol tells him about the friends who moved here with him, Mingyu and Wonwoo, and in return Jisoo tells him about Junhui and Minghao. He laughs at Jisoo’s recount of Junhui’s ardent anti-Wonwoo sentiment, so Jisoo figures Wonwoo probably doesn’t quite feel the same level of passionate hatred.

There’s a lull in the conversation. “Hey,” Jisoo says, “do you know Yoon Jeonghan?”

Seungcheol pauses. “I know some of his family. Don’t think we’ve ever met before, though. Our families aren’t really on good terms,” he confesses. “Why, are you close with him?”

“Yeah, he’s my—he’s my best friend.” It comes out a little more defensive than Jisoo intended.

“You have some surprising friends,” Seungcheol says, eyes crinkling up. He doesn’t elaborate on this, and they’ve reached the library anyway. Jisoo leads them to the table he usually sits at with Jeonghan.

“We should split the research,” Jisoo says. “I can take bilateral FTAs, you take multilateral? Then we can do the presentation together when we’re done.”

“Sounds good,” Seungcheol says.

They lapse into a comfortable silence, interrupted only by the tapping of keyboards and the rustle of pages. It’s a productive two hours, though Jisoo’s gaze keeps straying from his screen to Seungcheol on the other side of the table; the longer he does this the more he finds himself thinking bizarre things like that Seungcheol has the soul of a small woodland creature, or that he looks like he should be wearing five down jackets at all times. In the interests of continuing to seem like a well-adjusted person, Jisoo keeps these observations to himself. They make plans to meet up again to compile their research into a presentation next week.

As they’re packing up, a boy calls, “Hyung,” heading towards their table. He sees Jisoo and breaks into an apologetic smile. “Sorry, are you guys still busy?”

“We’re just finishing up,” Jisoo says.

“Ah, this is Mingyu,” Seungcheol says, “the friend I was telling you about before.”

Mingyu is tall and objectively devastatingly handsome enough to give Junhui a run for his money, but in a kind of dorky way, like an overgrown puppy. “Hi,” Jisoo says. “I’m Jisoo.”

“Just here to collect Seungcheol,” Mingyu says. Seungcheol stands up to leave, but Jisoo remains seated, and Seungcheol gives him a querying look.

“Ah, I’m staying, I usually study here in the afternoon with Jeonghan…” Jisoo trails off, because the boy in question has just entered the library in some bizarre reversed replay of the day Jisoo met Seungcheol. Time is a flat circle and his life is a joke. “You’re early,” he says, as Jeonghan approaches the table.

“You’re earlier,” Jeonghan says, but he’s looking straight at Seungcheol.

“Yoon Jeonghan,” Seungcheol says.

“Choi Seungcheol,” Jeonghan says.

Jisoo casts a desperate glance at Mingyu to make some sense of this, but Mingyu’s eyes are trained intently on Seungcheol. The air is charged enough that Jisoo half-expects his hair to be standing on end. For a long moment, Jeonghan and Seungcheol are just staring at each other as if the rest of the world has fallen away, the intensity of their gazes so forceful Jisoo starts to feel like he’s intruding on something. Then Jeonghan gives Seungcheol a jerky nod, which Seungcheol returns, and Jeonghan breezes past Seungcheol to sit down in the spot he’s just vacated.

“See you next week,” Seungcheol says, expression softening as he looks back at Jisoo.

“See you,” Jisoo replies. Mingyu puts a hand between Seungcheol’s shoulderblades, almost like he’s steering him, and like that they leave the library together.

 

 

 

 

 

For the rest of their study session Jisoo is on edge, barely able to focus on his readings, but Jeonghan seems to be going for the _let’s pretend nothing happened_ route, which Jisoo is happy to oblige. It isn’t until they’ve left the library that Jeonghan pulls him over to the side. “Hey, listen—”

“What was that all about just then, with Seungcheol?” Jisoo says. “I thought you two were about to start a fistfight, or, like, make out in the middle of the library.”

An indecipherable expression flashes across Jeonghan’s face. “Shua,” he says. “I’m—”

What Jeonghan is Jisoo will never find out, because a blur of teeth and bristling fur explodes out of the undergrowth and launches itself at him. Jisoo’s back hits the ground. On instinct he throws his arms up against the jaws snapping hot breath on the side of his face, and Jisoo’s mind whites out, and then the pressure on his chest lifts just as suddenly as it had appeared. Heart about to punch its way free from his chest, Jisoo lowers his arms and sees _Jeonghan_ wrestling with a fucking _wolf._

Shakily, he pushes himself to a sitting position. He needs to get up. He needs to run. But his legs stay rooted in place, useless, as Jeonghan goes for the wolf’s throat, pins it down against the ground. The wolf snarls at Jeonghan. Jeonghan snarls back, a guttural noise that doesn’t sound like it was shaped by a human throat; the wolf snaps at his neck, and Jisoo cries out involuntarily. Startled, Jeonghan glances up at Jisoo, and the split second of distraction is all the wolf needs to wriggle out from underneath Jeonghan’s hands and streak away. Jeonghan swears and crosses over to Jisoo, kneeling down beside him. “Are you hurt?”

Jisoo shakes his head. “What the fuck was that—Jeonghan, what did you—”

“Werewolf,” Jeonghan says, pulling him to his feet and dragging him back towards the main quadrangle. Jisoo thinks, wildly, that he’s rather had enough of boys lifting him off the ground this past week, and yanks his hand back. “We need to get out of here, come on—”

“I appreciate the levity but now is really not the time—I didn’t know you could fight—” If _fight_ is even the right word for the way Jeonghan moved back there, so quick Jisoo’s eyes could barely keep up. “You—I don’t understand—no human should be able to do that—”

Jeonghan lifts his head. The scratches on his forearms are closing up even as Jisoo’s looking at them. “Jisoo,” he says. “I’m not human.”

“That’s not—” _possible_ , Jisoo is about to say, but the word dies premature in his throat as his eyes continue to prove logic wrong. He takes an instinctual step back. Every reflex in his body is screaming _danger! danger!_ It’s Jeonghan, but—different, somehow. The lines of his face sharper, harder, more perfect, like they’re carved out of marble. His eyes jewel-bright and gleaming. And the teeth. _Can’t forget the teeth,_ Jisoo thinks, dazed. Curved and wickedly sharp and—undeniably fangs.

“I can’t believe I have to say this,” Jeonghan says, “but I’m a vampire.”

 _Huh, that makes sense,_ is the first thought that runs through Jisoo’s mind, followed in rapid succession by _what the fuck_ and _what the actual fuck_ because it most certainly does _not_ make sense. “I’ve seen you grow taller. I’ve seen you eat. You have a pulse,” Jisoo accuses, barely aware of the words slipstreaming out of his mouth. “You’re out in the sunlight right now.”

“Yeah, that’s because I’m a lamia.”

“You’re a _what_.”

“Lamia,” Jeonghan says. “A born vampire, not a made one, so I can age and eat and everything like that if I want to. I just also happen to drink blood every now and again.”

“Where do you get—actually, you know what, I don’t want to know.”

“I’m not killing people, if that’s what you’re asking,” Jeonghan says shortly. “We have—arrangements in place. And I can drink animal blood if I need to.”

Jisoo is fine with this. Jisoo’s legs, however, decide independently of the rest of him that they are not, and promptly collapse out from beneath him. Before he hits the ground, Jeonghan’s at his side gripping him under the arms, carefully lowering him down again. “You were not there two seconds ago,” Jisoo says.

“Super speed is a vampire thing,” Jeonghan says.

“Okay,” Jisoo says. “Okay. I’m going to need a little longer to process the fact that my best friend is, apparently, a vampire.” He narrows his eyes. “You haven’t, like, fed on me and then hypnotised me into forgetting or something, have you?”

“No,” Jeonghan snaps. “I would never do that.”

“Don’t get snippy with me when you told me _none_ of this,” Jisoo retorts. “We’ve been friends for, like, half our lives—”

“If I could’ve told you I would,” Jeonghan says, with an odd sort of urgency to his voice. “I wish I could have told you. Shua—”

“You’re a vampire.” A sense of detached, total calm settles over him. He is probably seconds away from snapping. “Yoon Jeonghan, you are a vampire. What’s next, Junhui and Minghao are secretly werewolves, or—” Jeonghan bites his lip. “No. That was a joke, please don’t tell me they’re actually—”

“Well, they’re not… _werewolves_ ,” Jeonghan says, and runs a hand through his hair. “This… might be easier to explain with them there?”

 

 

 

 

 

“Night World one-oh-one,” Junhui says, stabbing his straw at Jisoo before pushing it through the lid of his drink. “Rule one: don’t tell any human about the Night World. Rule two: don’t fall in love with a human.”

“Is that from a song,” Jisoo says. “Also, are you a werewolf?”

“We’re witches,” Minghao says.

“Cool,” Jisoo says. “There’s witches, are there.”

“Also, those are the actual laws of the Night World, so watch it,” Junhui warns.

“That’s—specific. Do a lot of you people have a habit of falling in love with humans, or what?”

“The Night World is just the name for… it’s kind of like a secret society,” Jeonghan says, crossing his legs. “There’s vampires, born and made. Shapeshifters, similarly, and they’re not just wolves. And witches.”

“Most of us are born into witch families,” Junhui supplies, “but there’s a couple of bloodlines who intermarried with humans a long time ago, so there are lost witches out there who don’t know about their heritage. You could even be one! Actually, you had that dream about Seungcheol, right—maybe it really was a premonition, and you’re one of us—”

“Hey, don’t overwhelm him,” Minghao says, poking at Junhui’s ribs. “But, yeah, that’s pretty much it.”

“Any questions?” Junhui says, peering expectantly at Jisoo.

Some part of Jisoo is half a tremor away from a full-blown panic attack right here in the quadrangle, because—what the fuck, his best friends are a vampire and two witches, which are things that _exist_. But, hey, he’s a university student. He’s a fucking professional at compartmentalisation. “What’s the penalty for breaking the Night World laws?” he asks, instead of shrieking his lungs out at them and running away.

“Oh, you know, death,” Junhui says.

This does not surprise Jisoo in the slightest. He thinks he has, in fact, permanently lost the capacity for surprise. He is fresh out of surprisability. “So… why are you all friends with me, then?”

“Because Jeonghan-hyung is friends with you,” Minghao says.

“But you turned out to be a pretty decent guy, so we stuck around,” Junhui adds.

Jisoo glances at Jeonghan, who refuses to meet his eyes. “Are Seungcheol and the others also—Night Worlders, or whatever? Is that what you meant when you were talking about families? Not gonna lie, I kind of thought there might’ve been some, like, mafia thing going on.”

“Wonwoo’s a witch, I’ve seen him wearing the black dahlia,” Minghao says, and Junhui’s expression goes stormy, the way it does whenever Wonwoo is mentioned. “That’s the symbol for witches—” Minghao directs this to Jisoo, who nods and comes to peace with the fact that he will forget this piece of information the second this conversation is over, “—but I’m not actually sure about Mingyu—”

“Shifter,” Jeonghan says, making a face of disgust. “I can smell it on him. Some kind of wolf, I bet, but—not the one who attacked you.”

“And—Seungcheol?” Jisoo keeps his voice carefully neutral. He’s still not entirely convinced this isn’t all just the product of a convoluted fever dream.

Junhui clasps his hands in front of his chest. “Prince Choi Seungcheol of the First House of the Shapeshifters,” he proclaims.

“What,” Jisoo says. “You guys have _royalty_? Wait—does this mean _Hansol_ is also a shapeshifter?”

“Only the shifters have a royal family,” Junhui says, lifting a finger, “and also, yes, he is.”

“Am I actually the only human I know,” Jisoo says.

Minghao and Junhui exchange glances. “Yeah, pretty much,” Minghao says. “And only the shifters have a royal family, but there’s sort of—equivalents, for the vampires and the witches. Jeonghan-hyung would be a similar rank to Seungcheol, I think.”

Jeonghan still won’t meet Jisoo’s eyes. “Yeah,” Jeonghan says. “I guess. It’s why I recognised the name.”

“So is there any reason in particular we’ve decided to break the most fundamental rule of the Night World and endanger our lives?” Junhui asks. “Not that I mind,” he continues, dreamily. “I’ve always wanted to do something criminal.”

“You’re a Circle Midnight witch,” Minghao says. “Everything you do is criminal.”

“Jisoo and I were attacked by a shifter next to the library just now,” Jeonghan says flatly, and the lightness of the atmosphere evaporates.

“What?” Minghao demands. “Do you know who it was?”

“No,” Jeonghan drawls, “but I have a pretty good idea of who sent them.” He looks meaningfully at Junhui until Junhui inhales sharply.

“I knew it!” Junhui yells, bringing his fist down on the table. “I _knew_ that asshole Jeon Wonwoo was up to something, the _traitor_.” His lips press into a thin, furious line. “Give me ten minutes and I can track him down and _kill_ him—”

“Hyung,” Minghao says, low, and—oh, Junhui must be serious. Jisoo feels a little nauseous. “Reverence for life— _An’ ye harm none, do as you will_ , remember the Witch’s Code—”   

“Fuck the Code,” Junhui snarls. Anger sizzles off him in palpable waves. “They broke it first by revealing themselves to a human and attacking bystanders, anyway, so Night World law comes down on my side—he’s not even Circle Midnight! He has no excuse—”

“Please don’t kill anyone,” Jisoo says, as firmly as possible. “We don’t even know it was them—”

Jeonghan scoffs. “Oh, sure, the prince of the shifters shows up, and less than one week later we just _happen_ to get attacked by a shifter—”

“If it was a vampire I wouldn’t immediately assume you sent them after me just because you’re some kind of vampire prince,” Jisoo says. “We’re not going to jump to conclusions without any evidence. Anyway, if Seungcheol did want to kill me, for whatever reason, he could’ve just gotten it done when we were working on our group assignment together, instead of having me attacked with, like, witnesses around.”

“I guess,” Junhui mutters, deflating.

“I don’t think it would be them, either,” Minghao says, “but—you really trust them that much?”

The image of Seungcheol, smiling, hand extended, flashes through Jisoo’s head. “I don’t know,” he says, “but I don’t think we should assume the worst. Listen, Jeonghan, can’t you pull rank or something and arrange a meeting so we can all talk, face-to-face? Even if they’re not behind it, they might know something. And we should probably let them know there’s a rogue shifter going around attacking people.”

“Fine,” Jeonghan says. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“In the meantime, nobody is going to be killing anybody,” Jisoo says, staring at Junhui until he pulls a face but shrugs his acquiescence.

“At least let us put some wards around your apartment?” Junhui says. “Minghao’s good with wards. You won’t even notice they’re there, promise, but they’ll stop any other shifters from breaking into your room and murdering you while you sleep.”

Jisoo nods, pretending he understands what this means. Minghao wrestles one of the rings off his fingers, a plain silver band set with a small black crystal, and hands it to Jisoo. “Protection charm,” he says. “I tied it to your life force just now, hyung. If it senses a threat to your life it’ll alert whichever one of us three is closest.”

“Thanks,” Jisoo says. Resting in his palm, it doesn’t feel any different from a normal ring, but there’s no reason not to believe Minghao, so he slides it onto his pinky finger. Minghao gives him a smile. Junhui tugs at Minghao’s arm, and they set off together. When they disappear from view Jisoo sighs and tips forward onto the table, resting his head on his forearms.

“Hey,” Jeonghan says, coming to sit down beside him, though he leaves a healthy distance between their thighs, which Jisoo is simultaneously grateful for and disappointed by. “You okay? You’re taking this whole thing pretty well.”

“I’m gearing up for a breakdown sometime later when the shock sets in,” Jisoo says. The joke falls a little flat when he considers that it’s pretty likely to actually happen, and from Jeonghan’s expression he doesn’t find it particularly amusing either. “I’m—just rolling with it, I guess. This is how the world is, right? I just didn’t know until now.”

“When I said I wished I could have told you, I meant it,” Jeonghan says quietly. “Really. I hated having to hide it from you.”

“I wouldn’t have wanted you to risk your life just to tell me,” Jisoo says. The sincerity of the words as they leave his mouth disconcerts him. “Though I don’t get why you became friends with me in the first place, if it’s so dangerous to be around humans.”

“My branch of the family’s more accepting than usual. But most lamia families—most of the Night World, really—hate humans, so.” Jeonghan smiles wryly. “I’m a bit of an outlier. And—I get it if you need space,” he says. “It’s a lot to take in.”

Impossible fondness bubbles up in Jisoo’s chest. Really, it’s unfair; he can never stay mad at Jeonghan for too long. Exhaling, he turns and puts his arms around Jeonghan, who tenses, then slowly reciprocates. He spends a few moments breathing in Jeonghan’s familiar scent, the expensive shampoo he insists on using. Still unchanged. Still the same Jeonghan he’s known since they were children. “No, it’s fine,” he says, into Jeonghan’s neck. “We’re all good.” And then, “I nearly _died_ today.”

Jeonghan’s hand comes up to stroke his hair. “I don’t think we should go to Seungkwan’s. We could stay in, if you want. It’ll be safer.”

It’s rare enough for Jeonghan to concede anything, but Jisoo’s feeling, probably unwisely, reckless. Leftover adrenaline from his near-death experience and all. “No, let’s go,” Jisoo says. “I could do with the distraction. I’ve got this fancy ring that’s supposed to protect me from harm, anyway, might as well put it to the test.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look we all make bad decisions sometimes


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That sounds tough,” Minghao says. He sets his spoon down to pat Jisoo on the shoulder.
> 
> “Thanks for understanding,” Jisoo says miserably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter references sex while extremely drunk, so heads up for that. also super brief joshua/mingyu because i'm trying to fit every single one of my thirst agendas into this fic. tfw you sublimate your crush on a guy by having a one night stand with his best friend.
> 
> prophecy quoted is sourced directly from the night world series.

 

 

 

 

 

The first thing Jisoo registers upon waking up is that his sheets are the wrong colour. He scrubs the sleep from his eyes. Looks at the sheets, then around at the room that is not his bedroom, which would explain it. He’s a bit ashamed it took him this long to realise—for one, the morning sunlight is being perfectly blocked by blackout curtains which Jisoo has felt neither the need nor the budget to invest in. For two, there’s the smell of something frying wafting in through the door, and Jisoo has never known Jeonghan to cook in all the years they’ve been together.

He manages to find his jeans but it seems that his shirt has disappeared into the aether, so Jisoo grabs one of the folded shirts on the dresser, figuring that whoever it belongs to probably won’t mind. It’s soft and comfortably large and smells like laundry powder. Thus armoured, Jisoo braces himself and walks out of the bedroom.

The source of the delicious smell is sizzling away in a saucepan held by none other than Kim Mingyu. A guy who must be Wonwoo is seated on the other side of the kitchen counter, reading a book at least as thick as Jisoo’s fist. The place is neat, full of natural light. “Hi,” Jisoo says. Wonwoo pushes a glass of water towards him, which Jisoo gratefully accepts.

“Hi!” Mingyu says.

“I am so, so sorry to do this,” Jisoo says, “but—which one of you did I sleep with?”

Wonwoo snorts. Mingyu gives Jisoo a shy smile. “That would be me,” Mingyu says. There are indeed a few reddish marks dotting the column of his throat. Jisoo flushes. “You’re wearing my shirt.”

“Oh—yeah, sorry, I should’ve asked, but I couldn’t find my own. I’ll wash it and give it back to you later,” Jisoo says.

“Don’t worry about it,” Mingyu says. “You can keep it, I’ve got plenty of shirts.”

“Thanks,” Jisoo says. “Sorry. I don’t usually—do this.” _This_ meaning get blackout drunk and sleep with the best friend of a guy who, though attractive, could be trying to murder him. He supposes he should maybe be a little less blasé about the prospect of his own impending death, but things are just like that sometimes.

He’s not exactly sure what else to say. _Did you guys try to kill me yesterday,_ while direct, is not exactly diplomatic, especially after he spent so much time lecturing the others about it. Plus, Mingyu seems like a nice kid, boyishly handsome, adorable smile; Jisoo has the vague impression that the sex was pretty good, too. Either the ring isn’t working, or Mingyu really isn’t interested in killing him, and Jisoo decides that he has enough faith in Minghao’s abilities to believe the latter.

“You can stay if you like,” Mingyu offers. “I made enough for three. I can drop you off at your place afterwards?”

On one hand, the longer he stays in this apartment the more chances Mingyu and Wonwoo have to murder him. On the other hand, whatever Mingyu’s cooking smells _really_ good, and Jisoo hasn’t eaten since lunch yesterday. “I’d be extremely grateful if you could, thank you,” Jisoo says, taking a seat at the counter, opposite Wonwoo.

“No problem,” Mingyu says. He plates up three servings of a vegetable omelette, and the moment Jisoo takes a bite he is ready to propose marriage on the spot. He entertains this fantasy for another three seconds before he swallows and decides it isn’t worth the awkward in-laws situation that would no doubt then arise between Junhui and Wonwoo.

Jisoo hasn’t exchanged a single word with Wonwoo yet, but he also seems decent enough, not quite the fire-breathing demon Junhui makes him out to be. He figures he owes it to himself to get to the bottom of this. “Uh… Wonwoo,” Jisoo says. “You know my friend Junhui, right?”

Wonwoo looks faintly amused. “I know him,” he says.

Jisoo isn’t sure where he was planning to go with this line of questioning. “Cool,” he says.

Wonwoo emanates a mild aura of judgement as he turns back to his book. Mingyu sits down, frowns, and starts transferring beansprouts from the bowls in the middle of the table to Wonwoo’s plate. The domesticity of this scene is too surreal for this hour of the morning. Jisoo puts his chopsticks down and checks his phone.

 _**jeonghan:** _  
_shua are u alive_

 _**me:** _  
_yes_

 _**me:** _  
_i’m at mingyu and wonwoo’s apartment_

 _**jeonghan:** _  
_ooohhhhhh hong jisoo sleeping with the enemy_

 _**jeonghan:** _  
_which one of the puppys bodyguards did u hook up with_

 _**jeonghan:** _  
_junnie says that if it was wonwoo he is extremely disappointed in u_

 _**me:** _  
_1) do you have to call him the puppy 2) none of your business but it was mingyu, for the record_

 _**me:** _  
_also since neither of them have tried to kill me so far i’m pretty sure it wasn’t them_

  
Jisoo clicks his screen off savagely. At least it sounds like Junhui is back to his usual levels of antipathy towards Wonwoo, rather than that terrifying period yesterday where he was prepared to hunt him down and rip his throat out. Jeonghan, too, seems less opposed to the general concept of Seungcheol today, but he’s a master of masking his tone, so who really knows?

True to his word, Mingyu drives Jisoo back to his apartment afterwards, all gentlemanly. They exchange numbers, and Jisoo kisses him on the cheek in thanks.

“I’m back,” Jisoo says, upon opening the door. “Alive and with all my limbs intact.”

“Good to hear,” Jeonghan says. “Was it worth it?”

Jisoo makes his way to the couch, where Jeonghan is watching some drama with the volume turned down, and settles in beside him. “Yeah,” he says. “Mingyu’s cute. Not my type, but still.”

“In all seriousness, though, the possibility that they’re the ones behind this does exist, so going home with one of them? Probably not your best decision.”

“Probably,” Jisoo agrees. He can’t help the wide smile that crawls across his face.

Jeonghan sighs. “What are we going to do with you,” he says, tucking an arm around Jisoo’s shoulders. Automatically, Jisoo leans into his side. “Where’s your instincts of self-preservation?”

“I have you, don’t I?” Jisoo says. He wiggles his fingers. “And this magic ring.”

“Don’t make its job even harder,” Jeonghan says. His face grows solemn. “You still okay with—everything?”

“Yeah,” Jisoo says. “If I don’t think too much about it, it’s fine.”

“That’s good. They agreed to meet this afternoon, by the way. Jun and Minghao offered to host, since as witches they’re technically neutral third parties.”

“The vampire-werewolf rivalry is real, huh,” Jisoo says. “And can Jun really count as a neutral third party? He might kill Wonwoo on sight.”

“He won’t,” Jeonghan says. “He cares about the Witch’s Code. Also, I don’t think he actually hates Wonwoo.” Jisoo makes a disbelieving sound. “That much,” Jeonghan amends.

“I guess we’ll find out,” Jisoo says.

 

 

 

 

 

Junhui and Jeonghan have to conduct some kind of arcane ritual at Junhui’s place in preparation for the meeting, or possibly just want some time to gossip alone, so it’s only Minghao and Jisoo out for lunch today. This involves the two of them in standing in Jisoo’s kitchen to pour hot water into extra spicy cup noodles while Jisoo unloads the events of the past night onto Minghao. It works out, since Minghao is the only one he can trust to not immediately tattle to Jeonghan anyway, and Jisoo loves Jeonghan but Jeonghan is far too involved in this to offer any useful advice.

“And I can’t get a read on him at all, he’s nice to me but it seems like he’s just nice to everyone? He’s just—it’s complicated,” Jisoo concludes.

“That sounds tough,” Minghao says. He sets his spoon down to pat Jisoo on the shoulder.

“Thanks for understanding,” Jisoo says miserably.

 

 

 

 

 

When Minghao and Jisoo arrive at the apartment, the others are already there, standing around with cups in their hands like the world’s most awkward house party. “Oh, good, you’re here,” Jeonghan says. There’s something different about the way he’s carrying himself—he’s always been self-assured, but his posture screams regal confidence today. “Let’s get started.”

Seungcheol’s eyes widen when he sees Jisoo, but he doesn’t comment on it. Wonwoo frowns, jerks his head at Jisoo. “Is he—”

“He’s with us,” Junhui says breezily, “so treat him kindly.”

They file into the living room and split off into their factions, facing each other. It kind of looks like they’re about to start a dance-off. Jisoo recognises this thought as tinged with hysteria, and focuses on keeping his breathing even.

“So,” Jeonghan says. “Why exactly has the prince of the First House of the Shapeshifters decided to grace us with his presence?”

The three of them seem to carry out a brief conversation through meaningful glances. “We’re looking for the Witch Child,” Seungcheol says. “Circle Daybreak’s traced the bloodline to this area—”

“The _Witch Child_?” Minghao repeats, incredulous.

“You’re Circle Daybreak,” Junhui says. “Of course you are. I should turn you all in.” This is an odd stance to be taking for someone so excited about the prospect of breaking the law yesterday, Jisoo thinks, but maybe there’s different levels to it? Or, more likely, it’s just because Wonwoo is involved.

“You won’t, though,” Wonwoo says, and Junhui scowls, looks away, but doesn’t contest this. “Besides, you’re harbouring a human. Circle Daybreak is the only place you’d be safe yourself.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Jisoo says, “but would anyone mind explaining to the token human in the room what Circle Daybreak is? Or the… Witch Child, for that matter?”

“Circle Daybreak’s a kind of—organisation sheltering people who’ve broken Night World law, humans and Night Worlders alike,” Seungcheol says. “We want to be able to live peacefully with humans—”

“An _illegal_ organisation,” Junhui says. “Outlawed back in the 1600s when humans started slaughtering us, whole lot of good all your peaceful cohabitation bullshit did.”

“And the Witch Child is the lost witch prophesied to stop the apocalypse with blue fire. If we lose them, there’s no way to save the world. So we have to find the Witch Child before our enemies find them, because when they do, they’ll kill them.” Mingyu reels this off like he’s accustomed to saying things like ‘prophesied’ and ‘save the world’ in everyday conversation. Jisoo thinks about how exactly this became his life.

“I am going to have to stop you there again,” Jisoo says. “ _Apocalypse_?”

“It’s all just prophecies and politics shit,” Jeonghan says dismissively. “The witches have been foreseeing the end of the world for decades. The Witch Child is just a myth.”

“It’s not a myth,” Wonwoo says. “Cross-referencing ancient texts and prophecies throughout the ages all points us to the same thing—the coming apocalypse, the Witch Child destined to wield blue fire against it. _In blue fire, the final darkness is banished; in blood, the final price is paid_.” Jisoo does not like the sound of that. “When exactly, we don’t know. But it’s soon.”

“He’s—not wrong,” Junhui says, appearing physically pained by the admission. “The magic’s all out of flux, anyone with a drop of witch blood in them can tell something big’s coming. I don’t know if it’s the apocalypse, but—I guess I wouldn’t want to risk it, either.”

“What exactly is this Witch Child supposed to stop?” Jisoo says.

“The prophecies aren’t very clear on that,” Seungcheol says, apologetic. “Something about the veil between worlds, demons, rampaging forces of darkness.” His voice grows pointed. “It doesn’t help that the lamia have decided to speed things up by banding together to hunt the Witch Child down.”

“Well, you’re certainly one to point fingers, considering a member of your royal retinue tried to kill Jisoo yesterday,” Jeonghan drawls.

Seungcheol looks from Jeonghan to Jisoo. “Someone tried to _kill_ you? Is that true?”

Jisoo shoots Jeonghan a warning glance. “I was attacked by a wolf shifter yesterday, yes,” he says.

“It can’t have been one of mine,” Seungcheol says, brow furrowed. “It’s just us three here, until we find the Witch Child. Mingyu’s a wolf shifter, but I’m sure you can tell that it wasn’t him.” Jeonghan inclines his head. “And why would we be attacking humans, anyway? We’re Circle Daybreak.”

“Why indeed,” Jeonghan says. “Maybe you shifters aren’t quite as happily united as you’d like to think.”

“We agreed to meet on your terms and your territory out of respect,” Seungcheol says, “so it’d be appreciated if you could extend that back to us.”

They bristle at each other like a pair of alley cats. “Look,” Jisoo says, “can both of you just—calm down for a moment. I think it’s pretty obvious the shifter who attacked me wasn’t one of Seungcheol’s. And—Jeonghan, what he said about the… lamia, is that true?”

“It’s true,” Jeonghan says. “My family hasn’t taken a side yet, but—like I said. Most lamia families would be overjoyed to see the end of the reign of humans. Usher in a new golden age of vampire supremacy and all.”

“There are no sides anymore,” Seungcheol says. For a moment his conviction shines so brightly Jisoo’s breath catches in his chest, the kind of fierce, commanding intensity that would inspire someone to follow him anywhere. “No covens, no family alliances. There’s only Circle Daybreak, and the coming apocalypse.”

“Well,” Jisoo says. “It sounds to me like we’ve all got not wanting the world to end in common. So—why don’t we call a truce or something? I can’t offer you much, but I’m sure you’ll be able to find the Witch Child a lot faster with Jeonghan and Minghao and Jun helping.”

The air crackles. Jisoo holds his breath as Seungcheol exchanges another series of significant glances with Mingyu and Wonwoo. “I’d like that,” Seungcheol says.

Jeonghan lifts an elegant shoulder, lets it drop. “Fine by me,” he says.

“Sure, just volunteer us like that,” Minghao mutters. He turns to Wonwoo. “Do you have any of the prophecies you were talking about? We can take another look at them. There might be something in there that could help us.”

“We did bring some of the old texts with us,” Wonwoo says, “but Circle Daybreak’s gone over them already. It’s how we knew to come here in the first place.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Junhui says. “I might find something you’ve missed. I’m pretty good.”

“Really,” Wonwoo says, with a challenging sort of grin, and predictably, Junhui springs to his feet, prevented from leaping over the table at Wonwoo to throttle him only by Minghao’s hand grasping the back of his shirt.  
  
“Yes really,” Junhui spits, and before Jisoo can really process what’s going on, Wonwoo, Junhui, Minghao and Mingyu are leaving to go review said old texts right this second. Jisoo hopes that the ameliorating presences of Minghao and Mingyu will prevent Junhui from breaking their newfound truce by snapping Wonwoo’s neck.

“Jun’s usually really nice,” Jisoo says, not entirely sure why he feels the need to justify this. “He’s just—weird around Wonwoo, sorry. I’ve never seen him act like this before. To be honest, I didn’t actually think he had it in him to be this… mean.”

“Wonwoo’s definitely provoking him, he isn’t usually like this either,” Seungcheol says. He says something under his breath that sounds like _kids_.

Jeonghan’s fingers are tapping out a distracted rhythm on the table surface. Jisoo bites his lip, casts around for something else to say. “Okay,” he says, “so once you’ve found the Witch Child, what’s next?”  
  
“I marry them.”  
  
“Haha,” Jisoo says, politely, and then— “Wait, you aren’t joking?”  
  
Seungcheol shrugs. “It’s the only way to make a shifter-witch alliance hold,” he says, mouth set, “and we’ve got no chance of fending off the enemy without one.”

“Why you don’t just do a blood-tie ceremony like civilised people is beyond me,” Jeonghan says.

“It’s what tradition calls for,” Seungcheol says. “Also, not all of us are as crazy about blood as you lamia.”

“The poor Witch Child, having to marry someone like you for _tradition_ ,” Jeonghan says.

“Can you two stop—whatever it is you’re doing,” Jisoo snaps. “You’re supposed to be under a truce.”

Seungcheol sits back, looking vaguely guilty. Jeonghan sets his jaw. “Well, I’m going to go make some calls,” Jeonghan says, getting to his feet and stretching. Without thinking Jisoo’s eyes move to track the long, lean line of his back, and as soon as he realises he is in effect _checking his best friend out_ he shakes the thought from his head. It must the weird vampire royalty aura Jeonghan’s been exuding all meeting.

Jeonghan’s footsteps echo down the hallway, followed by the click of the front door opening and closing.

“This must be a lot to take in,” Seungcheol says.

Jisoo exhales. “I’m adjusting,” he says. “Mostly by repressing everything. It’s been an intense couple of days.”

“Yeah, I can imagine.” Seungcheol draws his knees up to his chest. “I’m glad you’re safe, though. I’m sorry you got dragged into this.”

“It was probably bound to happen, considering my friend group somehow ended up consisting entirely of Night Worlders,” Jisoo says, dryly. “So what kind of shifter are you? Not a wolf, I guess.”

“I’m—not anything, yet,” Seungcheol says. “Shifters from my family have the ability to pick their shape. I haven’t decided what I want to be.”

“What are you thinking?”

“I don’t know,” Seungcheol says. “Maybe a bird or something? I’d like to be able to fly.”

“Maybe you could be a camel, you’ve got the eyelashes for it,” Jisoo says, and Seungcheol giggles. He hesitates, then adds, “It must suck, having to marry someone you don’t know.”

Seungcheol’s expression shutters. “It’s my duty,” he says. “It doesn’t matter what I want.”

“That doesn’t seem fair,” Jisoo says. “On you, or on the Witch Child.”

“It doesn’t have to be fair,” Seungcheol says. “It’s just—it’s my duty. This is what I was born for.” His mouth twists. He looks very young, and very tired. “I can’t speak for the Witch Child, but—I’m sure they would understand how much is riding on this. The literal fate of the world, is all. I’m happy to play my part. I think the Witch Child would be, too.” Somehow, though the words have the sound of a scripted phrase to them, Seungcheol manages to rattle them off without bitterness.

Jisoo wants to reach out, but there’s something brittle about the set of Seungcheol’s shoulders that stops him from moving closer. “Hey,” Jisoo says, gently. “The Witch Child, whoever they are—I’m sure—I’m sure they’d be lucky to have you.”

Seungcheol flashes him a threadbare smile. “Thanks,” he mumbles.

In what is probably yet another bad decision, Jisoo carefully puts an arm around Seungcheol anyway. Seungcheol shifts forward, drapes his arms loosely around Jisoo’s waist. He’s not small by any means, but he looks so compact, the bones of his face so delicate. Jisoo swallows and looks away.

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a while the only sound is five sets of harsh breathing, unnaturally loud in the dark. Then Junhui speaks. “That wasn’t a shifter.” Junhui’s gone very, very pale. “That was a fucking _dragon._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some brief gore this chapter, please heed the content rating and archive warning!

 

 

 

 

 

Afterwards, things go back to some value of normal, except that Jisoo’s newly-expanded friendship circle has taken it upon themselves to act as his bodyguards. Between classes, Mingyu or Minghao will melt out of the shadows to accompany him to wherever he’s heading next; Jisoo has no idea how they’re handling the issue of their own class attendance. Junhui and Jeonghan are even clingier than usual, and Seungcheol—well, there’s nothing quite like the knowledge of a looming arranged marriage to dampen the atmosphere. At least their presentation goes off without a hitch.

The treatment stifles. But if Jeonghan hadn’t been there during the shifter attack, Jisoo would be a beribbonned heap of meat and bones right now. He gets it, he really does. He’s never been so aware of his own mortal fragility, devoid of any supernatural abilities like super healing or turning into large animals, so he grits his teeth and tries to feel grateful instead of caged in.

Junhui and Wonwoo spend a lot of time in close-quarter confines poring over ancient witch and shifter histories, looking for clues to the Witch Child’s identity and miraculously managing not to kill each other along the way. They haven’t had any success on this front yet, but Junhui reports a variety of ‘interesting’ spells that Wonwoo apparently confiscates on sight; what’s surprising is that despite a great deal of vigorous complaining, Junhui lets him. Junhui brings Jisoo along to one of these research dates, so Jisoo is treated to a front-row seat for Junhui’s face when Wonwoo shows up in a pair of large round glasses. Following this, Junhui spends fifteen minutes stomping angrily around Jisoo’s apartment as Minghao and Jisoo exchange amused glances.

“ _Glasses_ ,” seethes Junhui, throwing his hands up. “I can’t stand you Twilighters.”  
  
“Wonwoo’s Circle Daybreak,” says Minghao.

Junhui gives him a look of utter disgust and resumes giving Jisoo’s floorboards the workout of their lives.

Honestly, Jisoo is still kind of expecting the camerapeople to leap out of the bushes yelling _surprise! This has all been an elaborately staged prank!_ any second now. But the days keep passing, and his friends keep hovering, and Jisoo’s getting sick of waiting, the static air moments before a storm breaks, the feeling of pressure building and building with no release.

 

 

 

 

 

Jisoo gets his wish not two days later when he’s heading home after spending the entire afternoon cramming for a macroeconomics exam and something divebombs him from above, claws outstretched right at his eyes. Jisoo drops to the ground as the bird screeches, wheels back around, and the bird isn’t a bird anymore, it’s a girl with close-cropped hair and a manic grin, staring straight at Jisoo. “ _Fuck_ , get Jisoo out of here,” someone is saying, and Mingyu scoops him up and starts sprinting, but the girl’s already there, cutting them off. Mingyu swears, sets Jisoo back down, and then there’s a wolf where Mingyu was standing a heartbeat ago, tall and silvery-dark. He lunges at her, fast. The girl is even faster, though, and she tosses him aside like a ragdoll. Jisoo flinches at the sound Mingyu’s body makes as it hits the ground; Mingyu whines, rolls back onto unsteady feet.

A burst of orange flame hurtles into the girl from the side and she’s knocked back, head twisting around. “Over here, asshole,” Junhui yells, flinging another bolt of fire towards her. At the same time Jeonghan leaps at her and the girl—ripples, figure broadening, as she blocks him with ease.

A fourth person’s appeared, flash-stepping around the girl in circles and flicking bullets of orange fire at her in between Junhui’s blasts that she bats to the side like they’re flies. Mingyu darts in, snapping at her ankles; she kicks him away. This time he doesn’t get back up. She slashes at Jeonghan, sprouting wickedly long claws, and there’s an awful wet crunch as his arm cleaves from his body with a shower of blood and shredded skin. Jisoo catches a glimpse of something jagged and gleaming amidst the torn flesh, and he gags, screws his eyes shut against the image of bone jutting out from the wreck of Jeonghan’s shoulder. “Jeonghan!” someone screams.

Jisoo can’t watch. He stares at his hands, white-knuckled against his knees. He can taste blood on his tongue; he must have bitten right through his lip. _Please_ , he thinks, desperate, half a prayer, _don’t let them die_ —

There’s a bright flash of blue. Jisoo jerks his head up in time to see the girl turn to look at him, eyes flat discs of black. She smiles. Then she vanishes from the spot.

For a while the only sound is five sets of harsh breathing, unnaturally loud in the dark. Then Junhui speaks. “That wasn’t just a shifter.” Junhui’s gone very, very pale. “That was a fucking _dragon_.”

 

 

 

 

 

Seungcheol and Wonwoo arrive minutes later, and the mystery witch who’d shown up in the nick of time to help them turns out to be one of Seungcheol’s friends, though Jisoo doesn’t manage to catch his name. “You’re lucky I was nearby,” the witch says. Seungcheol, draped over his shoulders, coos at him, and the witch rolls his eyes and disappears out from under Seungcheol, making him stumble forward.

Junhui’s on the phone to Minghao, speaking in rapid Mandarin. He absently presses a thumb to the corner of Jisoo’s mouth as he paces past him, and when Jisoo touches his mouth the skin on his lips is unbroken. Mingyu, still in wolf form, is curled up with his head resting in Wonwoo’s lap; Wonwoo’s hands, wreathed in orange fire, are laid flat on his back. Healing him, Jisoo guesses.

Speaking of healing. “You look awful,” Jisoo says, crouching down in front of where Jeonghan has propped himself up against a tree, a glistening mess of gore where he’s pressing his arm and shoulder back together. “Why hasn’t it healed yet? Should I go get one of the witches?”

“Haven’t had time to feed lately, so my powers aren’t working like they usually do,” Jeonghan says. There’s a faint sheen of sweat over his forehead. “It’s knitting back together, just—very, very slowly. Jun already helped kickstart the process. Don’t bother the others over it, I’m fine.”

“I don’t want to see you in pain,” Jisoo blurts out. “No, don’t even start, you think I can’t tell when—” Jeonghan’s looking up at him, expression raw as the open wound. Jisoo grimaces, and brandishes his wrist at him. “Just—do what you have to do.”

Jeonghan’s gaze ricochets from Jisoo’s eyes to the tracery of veins he’s just exposed and Jisoo tries very hard not to think about it. “Are you sure?” Jeonghan says. When he opens his mouth Jisoo can see the glint of elongated canines pressing into his bottom lip.

“Yeah,” Jisoo says, “I mean, your—fangs, they’re…” He gestures helplessly with his other hand. “Take as much as you need. What else are best friends for?” He’d aimed for levity but the words land a shade off, too close to earnestness. Really, he thinks, wry, there is very little he wouldn’t do for Yoon Jeonghan. “Just don’t, like, bleed me dry, I’m not that keen on dying before I’m twenty-five.”

Carefully, Jeonghan takes his wrist in his uninjured hand, smoothing over the sensitive skin there with a thumb in a gesture that could be reassurance or just the act of coaxing the vein closer to the surface, and lifts it to his mouth. He hesitates, lips brushing against Jisoo’s wrist; Jisoo shivers and glances away, steeling himself for the burst of pain sure to follow. But there is none—only a brief coldness, then warmth, sweeping out in waves from the place where Jeonghan’s mouth meets Jisoo’s skin.

And then the world dissolves away around him. He’s falling, shifting planes of mist and gold all around him, and he should be terrified but it’s—familiar, somehow. Comforting, even.

_Jisoo?_ comes Jeonghan’s voice, except it isn’t his voice at all, everything tinged with gold. _Oh—fuck, you’re not supposed to be here—_ and Jisoo blinks and finds himself back in his own body as Jeonghan lowers his wrist from his mouth. Jisoo’s almost afraid to look, but the skin is smooth and whole—a little flushed, but otherwise untouched.

“Thanks,” Jeonghan says. He licks his lips, which are full and stained bright red, as if he’s been kissing someone. Already the gouges along his shoulder have shrunk to thin lines, and he looks sharper, less haggard—almost glowing, though that could easily be the blood loss making Jisoo lightheaded. Experimentally, Jisoo stands up, sways. In a blink Jeonghan’s moved to Jisoo’s side and wound an arm around his waist, keeping him steady. It’s still unsettling, the inhuman speed. Another reminder of the distance between them. “Ah, I didn’t think I took that much,” Jeonghan mutters. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Jisoo says. “I’m just—glad you’re okay. That—the gold place, was that your mind?”

“Yeah,” Jeonghan says, sounding uncharacteristically shaken. “I didn’t think—the telepathy doesn’t usually happen, sorry, I wasn’t trying to force a—mind link, or anything.”

“It’s fine,” Jisoo repeats. “If you keep apologising to me I’ll really be worried, though.”

Jeonghan cracks a smile. His hand on Jisoo’s hip is warm enough to scald even through the layers of clothing, but Jisoo doesn’t move away.

 

 

 

 

 

“ _Demons_ must have been a mistranslation,” Wonwoo says. They’ve regrouped at his and Mingyu’s apartment this time, which Jisoo still associates with a weird but not entirely regrettable set of memories. “ _Dragons_ comes from the same root word, and it makes perfect sense, contextually—”

“All the dragons were sealed away millennia ago,” Minghao says. “It can’t be possible.”

Jisoo looks to Jeonghan for clarification, but Jeonghan just shrugs. “I’m as lost as you are,” he says.

“Dragons were the original shifters,” Seungcheol says. Again his voice takes on the tone of a recitation. “They could transform into anything, take any shape, human or animal. Nearly drove the human race to extinction, until the witches bound them to sleep.”

“So any one of us could be the dragon right now,” Jisoo says. “Great,” but Jeonghan’s shaking his head.

“It didn’t smell right, in any of its shapes,” Jeonghan says. “Not like a human, or a Night Worlder. It smelled like—fire. Even you’d be able to tell.”

“Can we redo the... binding spells?” Jisoo asks.

“None of us are strong enough for that,” Wonwoo says. “The Witch Child might be able to, but we don’t know what the spells are, anyway, so it’s a moot point.”

“Then,” Jisoo says, “do we know how to, um, kill a dragon?”

“Tear off its wings,” Minghao says.

“That’s alright, then,” Jisoo says.

“Problem is, they only have wings in their true form, and it’s going to take a lot of damage to get one to revert back to it,” Mingyu says. “We got our asses kicked fighting four to one, there’s no way we’ll be able to even get close.”

“I don’t understand why it just disappeared, though,” Junhui says. “I hate to say it, but we were—reaching our limits.”

“I thought it was one of you witches, maybe,” Mingyu says. “A spell, or something?”

Junhui purses his lips and shakes his head. “Wasn’t me. And it didn’t feel like magic—at least, not any magic I know—”

“No,” Jisoo says. “I saw what happened.” He shuts his eyes. “There was this blue flash, and then the dragon looked at me and disappeared—”

“Wait, what did you say?”

When he opens his eyes, everyone is staring at him. “There was this blue flash,” he repeats, “and then—”

_Blue_ , Minghao mouths, looking—reverent?

“The blue fire,” Junhui breathes. “It’s you. You’re the Witch Child.”

Jisoo frowns. “Sorry, what?”

Junhui is laughing, edged with something like relief. “I can’t believe it—it was you all along! _In blue fire, the final darkness is banished—_ all that time and the Witch Child was right in front of us—”

“Seriously, I’m not—it wasn’t me—”

“They must have figured it out before we did,” Wonwoo says. “That’s why they sent that wolf shifter, and now the dragon—”

“I have to contact the Council,” Junhui says. “We found the Witch Child. Goddess, it’s _real_.”

“Okay, you are _not_ marrying this one,” Jeonghan says, narrowing his eyes at Seungcheol, who seems to have lost the power of speech, looking wide-eyed at Jisoo, expression unreadable.

“Will you all shut up and _listen to me_ ,” Jisoo yells, and the room finally quietens. “Okay, first of all, I’m not the Witch Child,” he says. “I’m not even a _witch_ , I’m—completely human. And second of all, even if I was, I’m not getting married to anyone, holy shit, I’m _twenty_! He’s twenty!”

“Lost witches usually have no idea they’re witches until their powers burst out,” Minghao says. This sounds perfectly reasonable, but Jisoo still wants to hit something.

Whatever the source of the blue fire was, Jisoo knows it wasn’t him. Surely he’d be able to feel it, the way flame curled around Junhui and Wonwoo’s hands as they wielded their powers. But there’s none of that inside him. All he’d done was watch, helpless. The unearned title, the way his friends are looking at him like he’s a stranger, grates at him. _You wished, though,_ a voice whispers in his mind. _You wished for it, and then it happened._ Is that really all there is to magic?

“Let’s not—talk about marriage,” Seungcheol says, at last. “I think we can agree that dealing with the dragon is the priority here.”

Some tiny, irrational part of Jisoo is crushed by this, but he stamps it out as forcefully as he can. “ _Thank_ you,” he says.

“You’re right. We need to start preparing as soon as possible for the next attack. There’s got to be some old spells somewhere in those books that can help us,” Junhui says. “We might even find the actual binding spells—and Jisoo will actually be able to cast them—”

“I told you,” Jisoo says. “I’m not the Witch Child. Whatever the blue light was, it wasn’t me—I just saw it. That’s all.”

But he can’t deny that it would be—nice. To inhabit the world that comes so naturally to the others, to be on equal footing with everyone else. To be part of that legacy. To be less breakable. Jisoo’s mostly content to leave the wanting to the people like Junhui who demand more and more of themselves, jostling for perfection, but it’s hard not to feel inadequate when he’s surrounded by people steeped in magic, that unthinking strength a birthright they’ve known all their lives. At the same time, the fear of turning out to be a fraud wicks all the moisture out of his mouth. He doesn’t think he could bear the weight of his friends’ disappointment.

“Well, either way, the enemy seems to think you are,” Mingyu says, “so maybe we should just go with it for now?” There is something fundamentally wrong with this logic, but Jisoo gets sidetracked by the sheer absurdity that is people delivering the phrase _the enemy_ in total seriousness.

“Minghao and I can start training you tomorrow,” Junhui says, eyes glittering. “We’ll help you get the basics of spellcasting down—I’m sure you’ll sail through them!”

“Good idea.” Wonwoo nods in approval, and Junhui stares at him in horror.

“Now I don’t know that it is anymore,” Junhui says.

To forestall the elementary school playground sniping about to unfold, because that’s a headache Jisoo isn’t equipped to deal with right now, Jisoo says, “Look, can we figure this out tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Seungcheol says. The line of his mouth draws taut. He doesn’t look at Jisoo. “We can sort the rest out tomorrow.”

 

 

 

 

 

By the time they get back to their own apartment it’s late enough that Jisoo doesn’t bother with the lights, relying on muscle memory alone to guide him through the labyrinth of Jeonghan’s textbooks. He manages to make it to the living room unscathed and collapses on the couch while Jeonghan showers, then drags himself to the bathroom once Jeonghan’s done, going through the motions on autopilot.

Autopilot continues to steer him out of the bathroom until he finds himself blinking at the occupied bed, before he processes the fact that he’s accidentally walked into Jeonghan’s room instead of his own. Wordlessly, Jeonghan opens his arms and without hesitation Jisoo crawls into them, burying his face in Jeonghan’s shoulder, which has completely healed over, not a trace of the wound from earlier remaining. Just thinking about it makes terror crawl up Jisoo’s throat like bile. Maybe it actually is bile. Abruptly, he’s exhausted.

“Hell of a day,” Jeonghan says.

“Things just keep getting better and better,” Jisoo murmurs. “Last week I didn’t know there were anything but humans in this world. Two near-death experiences later I’m apparently not even human myself.”

Jeonghan hums. “Are you having an existential crisis?”

“I might be.”

“Do you really think you’re not—the Witch Child?”

“I don’t know. I was sure I wasn’t when they first said it, but—maybe I am? It’s not like I would know what magic’s supposed to feel like, anyway. I just—” Jisoo breaks off. “I just don’t want them to get their hopes up, if all I’m going to do is let them down.”

“You won’t,” Jeonghan says. “Really, it makes sense that you’d be the most fucking powerful witch to ever exist.”

“Flatterer.”

“This is a limited time only opportunity, so make the most of it.” Jisoo elbows Jeonghan in the ribs. “But try the training anyway, see what happens.”

“Mmm.” Jeonghan’s heartbeat is so steady under Jisoo’s ear. “Mind if I stay?” Jisoo says, half a yawn.

“I could never,” Jeonghan says. He might have said something else, too, but Jisoo’s already drifting into unconsciousness.

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparently stressful situations are most conducive to awakening dormant witch powers or whatever, which is how Jisoo finds himself in Minghao’s dance-studio-slash-witch-workshop facing down a Junhui who is brandishing two blazing fistfuls of fire at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise i haven’t forgotten this is also a soulmate au

 

 

 

 

 

Junhui shows up in their apartment at some unethical hour of the morning. “Good morning!” he sings, bursting into the bedroom and flinging open the curtains.

“How did you get in here,” Jisoo says. Jeonghan, an arm flung over Jisoo’s torso, grumbles something incomprehensible and turns to bury his face in the pillow.

“I’m here to take you shopping,” Junhui says, as if Jisoo hadn’t spoken at all. “Get up, get up!”

He kind of expects Junhui to comment on finding Jeonghan and Jisoo in the same bed, but in a stunning display of tact and tastefulness, Junhui doesn’t mention it at all as he physically drags Jisoo out of the building. It’s not like he would have anything to say, Jisoo reasons; they were both fully clothed, anyway.

Junhui insists on walking instead of catching public transport like a sensible person, sticking his hands in his pockets and radiating cheerfulness totally inappropriate to the time of day. Jisoo does his best to keep up with Junhui’s long, purposeful strides as they head towards the city centre.

“So what’s happening today?” Jisoo asks, stifling a yawn.

“You’re with me for the morning, then in the afternoon we’ll meet up with the others to sort this whole thing out.”

Jisoo grimaces. “The Witch Child thing, right.” He looks sideways at Junhui. “You’re not going to start acting weird around me or anything, are you?”

“I mean, you’re the Witch Child,” Junhui says. “You’re kind of a big deal to us witches, you know, saviour of the world and all that. But you’re also my friend. So.” He gives Jisoo a broad smile. “Also, since when were you and Jeonghan sleeping together?”

Jisoo chokes on air. “We’re not,” he says, feeling the back of his neck warm.

“Well, for both of your sakes, I hope you figure it out soon,” Junhui says. The edges of his smile go a little sad.

 _Figure what out?_ Jisoo is about to ask, but Junhui’s pushing open the door to a nondescript shop with a huge black flower—a dahlia?—stenciled onto the window, tucked between a hairdresser and a café. Inside, the shop’s lined with rows and rows of glass jars, geodes, sticks of incense, tiny potted herbs. A long line of wooden trays runs through the middle of the floor, a rainbow of tumbled gemstones winking up at him.

“Unity,” says Junhui, sweeping his bangs out of his face in a way that lets the black dahlia on his ring glitter ostentatiously in the light. “Oh! Hey, you were the guy who was with us at the dragon attack, right?”

“Unity,” echoes the boy behind the counter. Jisoo squints, and—yes, it is the teleporting witch from back then. “Yeah, that was me.”

The lack of inflection to his tone doesn’t dent Junhui’s enthusiasm in the slightest. “Thanks for helping out! I love your casting techniques, they’re really innovative. Anyway, I’m looking for black tourmaline, star sapphire cabochons, and uncharged Selket powder. Manticore blood, too, if you have it?”

A sharp grin. It’s the first real emotion the guy’s displayed since they arrived. “Circle Midnight?”

“Of course!” Junhui says. “Wen Junhui, I specialise in gemstones.”

“Lee Jihoon,” the boy says. “Matter manipulation.”

“Jisoo here is a baby witch,” Junhui explains, slinging an arm around Jisoo’s shoulders and ruffling his hair with his other hand, “so I’m just showing him the ropes. Helping him get him in touch with his heritage.”

“Uh… unity,” Jisoo says, belatedly. Jihoon nods, then disappears into the back of the shop.

“Circle Twilight are the do-gooders,” Junhui says. “Minghao’s one of them. I bet Wonwoo was too, before he went Daybreak. Circle Midnight’s the fun coven. Nothing’s off-limits to us.”

“Minghao said Circle Midnight was the criminal one,” Jisoo says.

“Aw, you remembered! He was exaggerating, don’t worry.” Junhui smiles. “I’m bound by the Witch’s Code of reverence for life. I would never do anything to intentionally cause another person’s death.”

“That still leaves an awful lot of criminal behaviour not covered,” Jisoo says.

“Ah, Jihoonie’s back!” Junhui says, as Jihoon re-emerges with a basketful of packages wrapped in brown paper. Jisoo raises his eyebrows, both at the unsubtle deflection and the diminutive, considering Junhui was literally introduced to the guy five minutes ago, but though Jihoon looks like the kind of person who’d punch—throw a fireball at?—someone for looking at him the wrong way, he lets it slide. The patented Wen Junhui effect, no doubt.

“All there,” Jihoon says, and rattles off a price that sends Jisoo reeling.

Junhui doesn’t even blink before pulling out his wallet. As Jihoon rings him up, Junhui leans on the counter, casually flirtatious; Jisoo doesn’t think he actually realises he’s doing it. But Jihoon’s constitution must be remarkably strong, since all he says is, “Interesting selection of ingredients. What kind of spell are you working?”

“Oh, it’s just experimental,” Junhui says. “I’ve been reading some old grimoires and found a few lines about temporary self-duplication, figured I’d give it a shot. It seems like a helpful skill to have, if things come down to numbers.”

“Energy projections or actual matter reconstitution?”

“Bit of both, hopefully! I was thinking if I use the tourmaline and sapphire as a kind of exponential focuser I can siphon out and concentrate enough energy to transmute it into mass without, like, killing myself from the strain. Kind of like a hologram you can touch? I’d have to fiddle around with angles and ratios and stuff, but the physics should work out.”

Jihoon’s lips quirk. “Impressive, if you manage to carry that off. Add a few zircon or diamond crystals to act as stabilisers, it’ll give you better control over the projections.”

“Ah, you’re right. Thanks! Merry meet and merry part and merry meet again,” Junhui says cheerfully, as they leave the shop.

They’ve barely gone three steps when Junhui lets out a squeal and drops to a crouch right there on the sidewalk, covering his face with his hands. Jisoo glances up and down the road, but there’s no cute baby animals around that could have provoked such a response. “Are you… okay?”

“No,” comes the response, muffled through Junhui’s fingers. “That was _Lee Jihoon_.” Junhui’s hands drop so he can pin Jisoo with a harrowing stare. “Lee,” inhale, “Ji,” inhale, “hoon.”

“… Is he famous?”

“He’s only the _best witch of our generation_ ,” Junhui says, “or—well, I mean, not counting you, obviously, but—he! The prodigy! Circle Midnight’s genius! Oh Goddess, I can’t believe I didn’t realise it yesterday, but I didn’t think he was in the country so I just assumed—he _gave me advice_! He’s kind of cuter than I was expecting, though.”

It’s a good thing Junhui did not say this to Jihoon’s face, because Jihoon would probably have murdered him on the spot. “Do you want to go back and get his autograph or something?” Jisoo says.

“No, he’s Seungcheol’s friend, isn’t he, I can arrange something later. Besides, we’ll probably be seeing him around! Ahhh, with both of you on our side there’s no way we can lose.” Junhui straightens up, turning his sunny megawatt smile on some unwitting passer-by, who takes an involuntary step back under its force. “I wonder why he’s working, though? I guess even prodigies need to pay rent…”

Instead of heading back the way they came, Junhui steers them further downtown. “The dance studio Minghao goes to is run by witches, so we have a workshop space down there we can use for training,” he explains.

“Oh, right, yeah, training,” Jisoo says weakly.

Junhui claps Jisoo on the shoulder encouragingly, then draws out his phone and starts typing. Whoever he’s talking to must not have given him the answer he wanted, because Junhui scrunches his face up and taps out something with a vicious application of thumbs to the screen.

“I just uninvited Minghao to our training session,” Junhui says, “because he _knew_ that was Lee Jihoon and he didn’t _tell_ me, and also he wouldn’t shut up about _soulmates_ —” Junhui breaks off, colour rising in his cheeks.

“Soulmates?” Jisoo repeats, voice shooting off into the upper stratosphere. He clears his throat to bring it back down to a pitch audible to human ears, which, he reflects grimly, is really a non-issue for his company of choice. “What? As in—is that a Night World thing? Why didn’t you bring this up earlier?”  
  
“Well, it’s not really a thing,” Junhui says. “It’s old magic, the soulmate principle. Two souls perfectly in sync, fated true love, et cetera.” He sighs. “But I guess all the old magic’s coming back up lately, what with the dragons and the apocalypse and everything, so I wouldn’t even be surprised if the whole soulmates thing started showing up again.”

The gold veil of Jeonghan’s mind, the dream he’d had of Seungcheol. “Theoretically speaking,” Jisoo says slowly, “how would you know? If you’d—found your soulmate?”

“Trust me, you’d know,” Junhui says. “It’s like there’s nobody else in the entire world.”

“Really specific, thanks.”

“Hey, the only accounts of the soulmate principle we have are from old stories, so that’s as good as it gets. Some of them link it to physical touch, though?” Junhui’s expression twists in a way that Jisoo has learned signals he’s thinking about Wonwoo. “Imagine being soulmates with Wonwoo, ugh.” Jisoo can’t say that particular hypothetical has ever crossed his mind. “I wouldn’t wish that on anybody. I wouldn’t even wish that on _Wonwoo_. Though he really does deserve himself.”

“I don’t know that I like the concept,” Jisoo admits. “I think—I’d want to be able to choose. The whole, uh, fated true love thing sounds kind of terrifying.”

“Of course you can choose,” Junhui says. “What makes you think it isn’t entirely about choice? Everything is fated to be once it’s already happened.”

 

 

 

 

 

Apparently stressful situations are most conducive to awakening dormant witch powers or whatever, which is how Jisoo finds himself in Minghao’s dance-studio-slash-witch-workshop facing down a Junhui who is brandishing two blazing fistfuls of fire at him.

“Minghao’s charm is too strong,” Junhui says, and it takes Jisoo a full five seconds to figure out what he’s talking about. “It’s registering this as a threat to your life and keeps bugging me to come save you.”

“That’s because this _is_ a threat to my life,” Jisoo says, eyeing the flames dancing at Junhui’s fingertips.

“This wouldn’t even put a dent in the wall,” Junhui scoffs. As if to demonstrate he flings a streak of fire at Jisoo, and only the reflexes he’s honed over the past week or so save Jisoo from swift and fiery annihilation.

“What the fuck!” Jisoo yells.

“Don’t _dodge_ it, that defeats the whole purpose of the thing,” Junhui says. “These won’t burn you, I promise, you’ll barely even feel it. Try to relax, don’t think too hard, let your instincts take over!”

“My instincts are telling me to leave right now before I die,” Jisoo says. This time he isn’t quick enough to duck and the fire slams into his stomach with the force of a pretty hefty punch. “Please go easier on me,” he wheezes, clutching at his abdomen.

“This _is_ easy,” Junhui says. “Come on, I believe in you! You can do it!”

 

 

 

 

 

“I can’t do it,” Jisoo says, lying flat on his back two hours later. He doesn’t think his muscles are up to the task of hoisting his body upright again. “I’m sorry, but I really, really can’t do it.”

“It’s okay,” Junhui says. He extinguishes the fire in his hands and comes over to lie down beside Jisoo. “It’s only the first day! We’ll try again tomorrow.”

“… Why are _you_ lying down?”

“You looked kind of lonely there so I thought I’d join you,” Junhui says.

“Is it time to go to the meeting yet,” Jisoo says. He rolls onto his stomach so he’s facing Junhui, pressing his cheek against the floor.

“Not for another hour,” Junhui says. “It’s our turn to host today, so Minghao will come pick us up.”

“I’m really not prepared to see Seungcheol again or possibly ever,” Jisoo says morosely.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” Jisoo says, and somehow ends up spilling the entire depressing tale from start to finish anyway.

“Well,” Junhui says, at the end, “this is a bit of a mess.”

“Don’t you hate it when you dream about a cute guy and then you end up having to get engaged for the greater good?”

“As Minghao would say,” Junhui says, “life comes at you fast sometimes.”

“It’s just, like… I don’t want to get _married_ , obviously, I’ve known him less than a month, but—” Jisoo exhales. “I don’t know. I haven’t really had the time to think through it properly.”

“I think the Council are going to insist on a betrothal, at least,” Junhui says gently.

“I’ve literally never met them in my life,” Jisoo mutters. “Why should I care about what they have to say?”

“You’re the Witch Child,” Junhui says. “You don’t have to care about anything they say. But—well. You know.”

 _You know_ meaning _you’re not selfish enough for that_. Jisoo sighs. “I know,” he says.

“I mean, look at it this way—if you had to get engaged for the greater good,” Junhui says, “you could do worse than Seungcheol.”

“Not as helpful as you seem to think it is,” Jisoo says, “but—yeah.”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Junhui repeats, with meaningful emphasis, and despite himself Jisoo laughs.

He could do a lot worse. Actually, it’d be hard to do better. If they were any two other people, without the apocalyptic prophecies and political marriages hanging over their heads, he would have liked to get to know Seungcheol properly, see how things go. But as it is, there’s nothing to be gained from wishful thinking. They are who they are.

“Also, you had his number all this time?” Junhui says. “And you didn’t tell me? I could’ve helped you out—”

“That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you,” Jisoo says. He needs to change the subject. “So how are things going with Wonwoo?” he tries, and he can see the precise moment all thoughts of Jisoo’s sorry romantic life fly out of Junhui’s head.

“Don’t taint the sanctity of this space with _that name_ ,” Junhui says.

“What, Jeon Wonwoo?” Jisoo says.

Junhui fixes him with a look of profound sadness. “He is the worst,” Junhui says. He’s still in the middle of a rapturous recount of some sparring match they’d had the other day when Minghao shows up at the studio to collect them, and without missing a beat Junhui transitions into bickering with him, though there isn’t any actual heat to it.

“Should we get takeaway or something for everyone?” Junhui says, on the way back to their apartment.

“Don’t we have a million of those spicy seafood ramyun packets at home,” Minghao says. “We can’t afford to get takeaway for so many people because you can’t stop buying your body weight in, like, diamonds every week.”

“Gemstone magic is one of the oldest and most well-respected fields of witchcraft, thank you very much,” Junhui says, “and Wonwoo doesn’t eat seafood.”

“Why do you know this,” Minghao says.

“Why wouldn’t I know this,” Junhui says icily. “Know thy enemy, Xu Minghao. Just get him to pay us back or something.”

Jisoo lets the rest of Junhui and Minghao’s familiar back-and-forth fade into background noise, only tuning back in when Junhui elbows him.

“Seungkwan’s holding another party, day before equinox,” Junhui says. “You going?”

“Uh… when?”

“Couple of weeks,” Minghao clarifies.

“Is Jeonghan going?”

“Probably.”

“Then he’s going to make me come with him,” Jisoo says, “so, yeah.”

“Hyung, aren’t you ordering food?” Minghao says to Junhui. “Go order food, we’re nearly home.”

“I thought you just said you didn’t want me to get takeaway, make up your mind,” Junhui grumbles, but he’s taking his phone out anyway.

 

 

 

 

 

Jisoo didn’t think it was possible for the atmosphere to get more awkward than the first meeting they’d held with everyone together but the universe just loves to prove him wrong time and time again. They’re crammed into Junhui and Minghao’s tiny living room again, the couch pushed back so there’s enough space for everyone to sit on the floor in a loose circle. Junhui distributes fried chicken and pajeon to everyone except Wonwoo, who seems to find this hilarious. Jisoo offers Wonwoo some of his, but Wonwoo shakes his head, still smiling, and Mingyu swoops in and gives Wonwoo half of his share anyway.

It turns out Jeonghan’s actually spent the day with Seungcheol being productive, which makes one of them, by capitalising on his lamia royalty status to search for help with the dragon. “Most of the big families are siding against us,” he says. “There’s a couple I think I can sway, but it’ll take time we don’t have, so we’re going to be on our own for this.”

From there on, things turn into a blur of Night World politics that sails right over Jisoo’s head. Jisoo’s more tired than he thought he was, fighting a losing battle against the downward motion of his eyelids the entire time; embarrassingly, Mingyu notices and offers to let him off for the rest of the meeting.

“No, I’m fine, this is important, I’m the Witch Child,” and he still can’t deliver it phrased less like a question, “I need to know these things.”

“Go sleep,” Jeonghan says. “We’ll catch you up on anything that comes up.”

Jisoo doesn’t miss the slip into the collective pronoun but isn’t sure what to make of it. He manages to stumble his way to the bedroom and promptly passes out the moment his back touches the mattress. When he wakes up again, it’s already dark. He’d fallen asleep on Minghao’s bed, evident from the small shrine of frog plushes piled atop the dresser; Jisoo gets to his feet, wincing as every single one of his joints individually pops back into place.

He heads back out into the living room, which is empty, and then through into the kitchen, which is not. There are books spread out all over the table—how many family histories does Seungcheol even _have_ —and pages and pages of notes in Jeonghan’s messy scrawl. Jeonghan’s fallen asleep on this side, a red jacket draped over him. The sight is unexpectedly tender. Jisoo tugs Seungcheol’s jacket up a little higher on Jeonghan’s shoulders, turns to leave the room, and nearly collides with Seungcheol in the doorframe.

“The others all left to talk to Jihoon,” Seungcheol offers uncertainly, stepping back to let Jisoo past. “You didn’t miss much.”

“Oh, okay,” Jisoo says. He shuts the door to the kitchen behind him, though nothing short of an asteroid crashing directly into the room is likely to wake Jeonghan, before realising this means there’s now nobody here to act as a buffer between him and Seungcheol. It’s the first time they’ve been alone together since the dragon debacle and Jisoo feels that if he looks directly at Seungcheol he will die, so he fixes his gaze on the wall panels to Seungcheol’s left. “So about the, um, the betrothal thing,” Jisoo says, feeling his cheeks grow hot.

“I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do,” Seungcheol says, but Jisoo knows they’re both thinking about what he’d said about duty what seems like years ago, though it was only last week. “It’s—there’s still time to figure out a better solution that’ll make both the shifters and the witches happy.”

“It’s not you, personally,” Jisoo says, “like—it’s not that I don’t want to marry you—well, I mean, I don’t, but not because it’s _you_ —you know what I mean.”

At this point Jisoo’s face is radiating enough heat to rival a small star. “I know what you mean,” Seungcheol says, sounding slightly strangled. “I’m not—I wasn’t really prepared to actually—I don’t… not want to marry you, either. I think you’re really nice.”

“Thanks, I think you’re great, too.”

“Thanks.”

Jisoo risks a glance at Seungcheol, who is studiously inspecting the light switch to Jisoo’s right, shoulders hunched inward, face bright red. “There isn’t any other way, is there,” Jisoo says. “To make sure the shifters and the witches ally.”

Seungcheol doesn’t respond, which is enough of an answer in itself. The weight of it is suddenly unbearable, crushing the breath from Jisoo’s lungs, the burden of this future he’s inherited. The sheer scale is nauseating. He and Seungcheol and the thousands of years of history conspiring to draw them together like this, nothing he could have ever imagined or wanted, and for someone who’s supposed to be the most powerful witch in the world he feels pretty powerless right now. It would be easier if Seungcheol was someone awful, but he isn’t, which just makes things worse.

“This is stupid,” Jisoo says. “How have you lived your entire life under this kind of responsibility? Knowing you can’t even choose something like—this?”

“It’s—you get used to it,” Seungcheol says.

“You shouldn’t have to,” Jisoo says. “It sucks.”  
  
Seungcheol laughs, without much humour. He turns his head and his gaze collides with Jisoo’s, holds steady. “Yeah,” he says. “It does.”

He looks about as miserable as Jisoo feels. Nothing’s really been resolved, but Jisoo’s sense of social responsibility is momentarily outweighed by his desire to escape this topic of conversation at whatever cost. “You and Jeonghan,” Jisoo says. “I’m glad you’re not trying to, um, kill each other anymore.”

“He’s alright,” Seungcheol says. “He’s your best friend, how could he not be?”

A cautious kind of warmth unfurls through his chest. “We’ve known each other since we were ten,” Jisoo says quietly. There’s more he wants to say, but—it’s Jeonghan. Everything they are is impossible to articulate, except for the fact that it’s _everything_.

Seungcheol gives him a wry smile, like he knows anyway. “When you’re with him,” he says, “it’s like you forget there’s anyone else in the room,” and what is Jisoo supposed to say in response to that?

 

 

 

 

 

As it turns out, this specific aspect of the Witch Child saga is the least of his troubles, because his powers staunchly refuse to activate no matter how many fireballs Junhui and Minghao lob at him. By the end of the week he hasn’t conjured so much as a spark, and even Junhui’s boundless positivity dims a little.

“Don’t worry about it,” Minghao says, but he’s frowning.

Jisoo worries anyway. The longer things drag out the more he feels like an impostor in his own skin. Some small, selfish part of him doesn’t want to relinquish his only claim to the Night World, but if he’s honest with himself, it seems less and less likely that there’s anything magical about him at all.

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They’re getting bolder. This attack happened in broad daylight with other people around; probably a massive violation of Night World law, but who’s counting at this point?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i'm like a week late, this chapter battled me every step of the way. i really hope the final product is somewhat readable. also i have to finish a bunch of exchange commitments, so the next chapter may be late as well, but i'll do my best to post it before the end of the year!

 

 

 

 

 

“There has to be something we’re missing,” Junhui says. “It just doesn’t make sense. It shouldn’t be taking this long to get a handle on your powers.”

Actually, it makes perfect sense if Jisoo isn’t the Witch Child, but he doesn’t voice it. This is exactly what he thought would happen. He feels sick.

“Step me through exactly what happened during the attack,” Junhui commands.

“I saw the dragon rip Jeonghan’s arm off, then I nearly threw up, then I closed my eyes and wished really hard for everyone to not die, then there was this bright blue flash of light, and when I opened my eyes the dragon was looking at me. Then it disappeared,” Jisoo says shortly, refusing to let his mind linger on any of the images. “That’s it. That’s everything.”

“Your lip was bleeding, too,” Junhui says. “I healed you, right?” He frowns. “You must have done something, triggered some kind of condition… the Witch Child’s magic should be harder to use than normal magic, I guess…”

“Or,” Jisoo says, “maybe, like I said before, it wasn’t me at all—”

“Don’t say that!” Junhui says fiercely. “It has to be you, I know it is.”

“I know you guys want me to be the Witch Child,” Jisoo says, “but I think—I really think you should prepare a—contingency plan, or something. Don’t you kind of feel that you’re just… projecting? Maybe?”

“No,” Junhui says.

“Jun…”

“Witch’s intuition,” Junhui says. “It’s you.”

“Is that a thing?”

“No,” Junhui admits, “but when have I ever been wrong?”

 

 

 

 

 

There isn’t a lot of point to the constant team meetings, since all there is to update each time is that zero progress has been made across the board, whether that’s regarding Witch Child powers or easier ways to get rid of dragons, but Jisoo is starting to understand that Night World denizens have some kind of hard-on for convoluted ceremony, so the meetings continue. The waiting game combined with the arrival of midterm season has them all on edge.

“We can’t just sit around waiting for the dragon to show up again,” Seungcheol says. “We need to get it out in the open, deal with it on our own terms.”

“Seungkwan’s equinox party,” Mingyu suggests. “His place backs out into the forest, we can lure the dragon out there—”

“No,” Seungcheol says. “There’ll be too many people around, someone’s bound to get hurt.”

“We can ward it beforehand. It shouldn’t be too hard to tweak an anti-shifter ward to specify dragons,” Junhui says. “Seungkwan won’t mind, doesn’t he specialise in defensive magic anyway, he can help us,” which is how Jisoo finds out that Seungkwan, too, is a witch. He’s not sure what else he expected.

“Dragons aren’t stupid,” Minghao says. “It will know this is a trap.”

“Then we set the trap with bait it can’t ignore,” Wonwoo says.

Beside Jisoo, Jeonghan goes still. “No,” Jeonghan says. “Absolutely not.”

“I’ll do it,” Jisoo says, at the same time.

“Your powers aren’t working,” Jeonghan says. “You’re as good as human right now.”

“I don’t care,” Jisoo says. “The dragon doesn’t, either. It’s going to come after me anyway, isn’t it better if we’re prepared for it?”

“We’re already prepared,” Jeonghan says.

“It’s my choice,” Jisoo says. He stares Jeonghan dead in the eye until he huffs and glances away.

Seungcheol’s mouth twists. “Either way, we won’t let anything happen to you,” he says firmly.

“Then it’s settled,” Jisoo says. “Let's move on, shall we?”

 

 

 

 

When Jisoo comes in the next day he’s confronted with the sight of two Junhuis standing in the workshop. He blinks. It’s eerily like he’s seeing double, except one of Junhuis glances up at him and waves enthusiastically.

“I did it!” the moving Junhui yells. “There’s a lot I need to fine-tune, but—it works!”

Jisoo glances at the Junhui who’d spoken, then at the Junhui staring vacantly into space, a blank smile fixed on his face. “This is really cool but also incredibly creepy,” he says.

“Okay, yeah, normal human expressions are on the priority list of adjustments,” Junhui says. He’s swaying lightly on his feet. The Junhui clone hasn’t so much as twitched a muscle. “Come over here! Touch the skin! Tell me how realistic it feels because I’m running on like fifteen minutes of sleep in the last forty-eight hours, six vigilance charms I borrowed from Minghao and eleven cups of coffee, and my limbs don’t feel connected to my body anymore!”

“Do you want to take a break or something, how are you not _dead_ ,” Jisoo says, carefully avoiding the laser intensity of the Junhui clone’s unblinking gaze as he approaches. There’s a small fortune in gemstones glittering on the bench behind Junhui, some with symbols carved onto them, and an assortment of other witchy-looking odds and ends. Jisoo doesn’t touch any of them in case they explode in his hands.

“Touch the skin,” Junhui sings.

“You’re really fixated on this,” Jisoo says, but complies. The clone’s skin is smooth and cool, and doesn’t react at all to the hand Jisoo’s hesitantly placed on its forearm. “It, uh, feels like normal skin? Except cold.”

“Good,” Junhui says. “Excellent. I spent a lot of time getting the skin right. Is Minghao here, I thought he was coming with you?”

“Yeah, he and Mingyu left to get something to eat first, so he’ll be here soon,” Jisoo says.

Either Minghao and Mingyu have uncannily similar tastes in fashion, or they’ve started coordinating outfits, because they’d arrived in the morning to pick Jisoo up in matching black ensembles with a single yellow accent. Upon closer inspection, the single earring they were both wearing belonged to the same set. Jeonghan had already left, miraculously up before sunrise, to talk more Night World politics with Seungcheol. They’ve been spending more time together lately as they sort out histories, logistics, alliances. It’s good to see them getting along, though the sight of them conversing without overt hostility sends an odd pang through his chest he’d rather not examine.

“He’s… not as bad as I thought he would be,” Jeonghan had said, when Jisoo mentioned it. Under normal circumstances Jisoo would have taken the opportunity to tease him relentlessly about this, but things being what they were he didn’t press the matter.

“Mingyu can’t come in here,” Junhui says, now. “This is top secret witches-only business.”

“I mean,” Jisoo says, “I’m assuming you’re planning to use this if—when there’s another dragon attack, so presumably he’s going to see it then—”

“The spell isn’t finished,” Junhui says. “I can’t show this to anyone who isn’t one of us. Not until it’s finished. The others can’t—I can’t let them see.”

It’s Junhui’s perfectionism; Jisoo gets it. “Want me to tell Minghao?”

“Minghao won’t bring him in here,” Junhui says.

As if on cue, Minghao walks into the room, sees the two Junhuis, and immediately walks back out again. Jisoo can respect this decision. “Come back,” Junhui complains. “I’m doing groundbreaking magic here, be more supportive.”

“The world does not need two Wen Junhuis,” Minghao says flatly, from outside the door. “One is more than enough.”

“Haohao,” Junhui croons.

Minghao lets out a gusty sigh loud enough that Jisoo can hear him from this far away and appears in the doorframe again. “I can’t believe you actually did it,” he says.

“Did you doubt me?” Junhui says, putting his hand to his chest, all mock offense.

Minghao doesn’t deign this with an answer, crossing the room to where both Junhuis are standing. “I haven’t seen these sigils before,” he says, picking up a clear stone and holding it up to the light.

“Yeah, I had to come up with a few composite ones to get everything to work properly,” Junhui says. “Wonwoo… was not entirely unhelpful during the process.”

“Cute,” Minghao says, setting the stone back down.

“ _Not_ cute, and neither are you,” Junhui says.

Minghao shrugs. “Untrue, and you know it.”

“Can we go back to the part where you compliment my spellcasting,” Junhui complains.

“Yes, hyung, you’re an excellent and extremely talented witch and Lee Jihoon would swoon into your arms if he saw you,” Minghao says dutifully. Junhui preens. “Does the, uh, clone… work?”

“Well, he can’t talk yet,” Junhui says, “but he’s got some basic casting abilities. I have to assign them to him, though. Like this.”

He picks up a dark blue stone, the symbol on it glowing golden, and the other Junhui lifts his hands with a mechanical jerk and releases a bolt of orange fire.

“Hm,” Minghao says.

“The youth of today, such harsh critics,” Junhui says mournfully. He turns his clone’s face from side to side in his hands. “At least I’m handsome,” he sighs. “I could literally kiss myself.”

Minghao kicks him on the shin. “If you’re done draining energy…” he says.

Junhui releases his clone’s face with a last regretful pat to the clone’s cheeks, makes a complicated gesture with his hands, and the clone disappears. Jisoo breathes a little easier. “Ah, I’m exhausted,” Junhui announces.

“Go take a nap,” Minghao says. “I can sling fireballs at Jisoo-hyung by myself. When those vigilance charms you stole from me wear off you’re gonna crash _so_ hard.”

“You could sound less delighted about it,” Junhui grumbles, but he climbs into the space under the bench, curls up, and within seconds his breathing has evened out and he appears to be sound asleep.

“So unnecessary,” Minghao mutters under his breath, but his expression is fond. “One of these days he really is going to kill himself. Or I’m going to kill him if he keeps taking my stuff. We’ll see which happens first.”

 

 

 

 

 

On the way to the food court Jisoo knocks into a girl hurrying down the path in the opposite direction, and she shoots him the filthiest glare he’s ever received.

“Sorry,” Jisoo says, collecting himself with a quick bow.

“You better be,” the girl says, and tries to gore him in the stomach with freshly materialised claws.

 _Not this again_ , is the only thought running through Jisoo’s mind as he lands on the ground and the familiar sounds of a brawl spring up around him.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Minghao says, “someone cover me—”

An odd shimmer rises in the air like heat haze. Jisoo scrambles out of the way, because Witch Child or not he’s still very mortal, and maybe they should have invested more time in self-defense than in Junhui and Minghao’s crazy witch version of meditation. The dragon isn’t even attacking, not the way it did the first time. It just stands there, looking bored, batting the others away when they get too close.

They’re all waiting for him to do something. He needs to prove himself, prove his worth. _Please_ , he thinks, _I have no idea what I’m doing but please, please work_ , and for a moment he can feel a surge of something electric rising up inside him, pressing at his fingertips, and his breath catches—but there’s no flash of blue this time.

Minghao shoots him a _what-are-you-doing_ look, fire gathering between his hands. Jisoo digs his nails into the meat of his palms to quell the panic crawling up his throat.

Then the dragon speaks. “This has been nice,” it says conversationally, “but it’s more fun when you’re all here. Consider this a warm-up. Next time, bring the others with you.”

It crouches, springs directly upwards into the sky, and disappears, leaving everyone perplexed in the settling dust. Jisoo straightens up unsteadily. Knows without a shadow of a doubt that he is nothing but human.

 

 

 

 

 

They’re getting bolder. This attack happened in broad daylight with other people around; probably a massive violation of Night World law, but who’s counting at this point?

Minghao is fast asleep or possibly unconscious, arms and legs wrapped around Mingyu like a human limpet, face turned into into the felt collar of Mingyu’s coat. The shimmer in the air from before had apparently been a concealment charm, but after the dragon disappeared he still had to cast dozens of emergency memory erasure charms on the humans who’d seen the dragon before the shield went up, Junhui fluttering nervously around him, pressing his hands to Minghao’s back every so often. When Jisoo asked, Junhui frowned and explained that since charms weren’t his area of specialisation all he could do was lend energy. “Not Jihoon, though,” Junhui adds. “Circle Midnight's prodigy is talented enough to have natural aptitude for every field of magic.”

“What happened there?” Wonwoo says. It’s a completely neutral question, but Jisoo winces.

“I’m so sorry,” Jisoo says, looking at his feet. “I should have—I tried, I swear, I tried, but it didn’t work, I couldn’t—do anything.” Guilt is bitter and leaden on his tongue. “I’m not the Witch Child. There’s no way I can be. We all know it. I’m just—I’m sorry you guys wasted so much time on me when you could’ve been looking for the real one.” Junhui opens his mouth to interrupt, but Jisoo cuts him off. “It’s fine. You don’t have to say anything. I’m just—yeah, I’m sorry.”

“Well,” Minghao says, “I liked you before you were the Witch Child, anyway,” and the pinched feeling in Jisoo’s chest eases a little.

“We’ll just have to deal with the dragon the old-fashioned way and find them later,” Junhui says, in a valiant attempt at cheer. “Besides, that’s what we were planning all along, right?”

“Right,” Jisoo echoes.

Jisoo hasn’t looked over at Jeonghan and Seungcheol since the dragon left; it’s the weight of their misplaced faith that lies heaviest on his shoulders, and he can’t face either of them knowing just how much was riding on his identity as the Witch Child. But they’re completely preoccupied in carrying out a shouting match under their breaths, though it’s getting progressively louder, the tenor of the argument audible even if the words themselves aren’t. Seungcheol looks frustrated, and Jeonghan just looks livid.

Mingyu follows the line of his gaze and frowns, starting towards them like he’s drawn magnetically to Seungcheol’s side, and the rest of them follow. They get there just as Jeonghan throws his hands up and spins on his heel to walk away.

“Hey,” Seungcheol says, reaching out to grab one of Jeonghan’s wrists as his arms come back down. “I’m not done—”

Jeonghan twists around, opening his mouth to let out something no doubt scathing, just as Seungcheol’s hand brushes his. And it’s like time stops just for the two of them, Seungcheol’s fingers wrapped around Jeonghan’s bare wrist, both of them utterly still. Once again they’re staring at each like they’re the only people in the entire world, except Jeonghan’s eyes are wide and unguarded and Seungcheol’s lips are parted. The moment stretches for what seems like years, though logically Jisoo knows it can’t be longer than half a minute. Then Jeonghan leaps backwards, tearing his hand out of Seungcheol’s grip like he’s been scalded. “No fucking way,” Jeonghan hisses. “No. Absolutely not.”

All the colour has drained from Seungcheol’s face. He’s staring at his hand like it’s sprouted an extra appendage.

“This is wrong,” Jeonghan is saying. “I want a fucking refund. Him? The fucking puppy? There’s got to be some way to reverse this, tell me there’s some way to reverse this—”

“Oh, Goddess,” Junhui breathes. “They’re—”

He doesn’t need to finish the sentence, because Jisoo knows. Has possibly known since the first day he watched them lay eyes on each other, the rippling tension like a cord connecting the two of them, binding them together. _Soulmates_. The word sinks like a stone somewhere inside him. Of course they are. Of course the old magic returns just for Seungcheol and Jeonghan and their elite blood feud, which is apparently something more, now. Or will be something more.

Jeonghan makes an inarticulate noise and storms away. Seungcheol runs a hand through his hair, worries at his lip with his teeth, and heads after him. Jisoo starts after them, too, but Wonwoo places a cautioning hand on his arm. “Don’t,” Wonwoo says. “Let them sort themselves out first.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence. Jisoo thinks letting the dragon kill him would probably be preferable to dealing with this.

“On the bright side, this raises the option of a lamia-shifter alliance,” Junhui says weakly.

 

 

 

 

 

So he isn’t the Witch Child. That’s fine, or at least it should be; he’d spent the vast majority of his life as a human and it should be nothing to return to being one. But it hurts more than he’d expected, being shut out again now that he’s had a taste of what it feels like to be part of the Night World. The meetings have been put on hiatus in the interests of studying, and somehow, between the blur of midterms, the fact that his best friend and his not-fiancé are supposedly destined to fall in love or already have, and generalised anxiety over an ancient monster trying to kill him, the days keep passing. Jeonghan is avoiding him, which is a remarkable feat given that they live together. Seungcheol is also avoiding him, and Jisoo spends most of his time fourth-wheeling the witches and Mingyu as they continue to scour books for anything else that might help them in between study sessions, pretending not to notice the worried glances they shoot each other over the top of his head.

He isn’t the Witch Child, but the dragon doesn’t know that, so the plan goes forward. Jihoon shows up to help lay down the wards at Seungkwan’s house; Jisoo’s never really talked to Seungkwan before, but he’s chatty and friendly and already knows Seungcheol through Hansol. Jisoo just hangs back awkwardly as the witches make their way around the perimeter of the house, except Junhui, who peels off from the others to join him.

“Not your specialisation?” Jisoo asks.

“Wards are generic magic, I’m just bad at them,” Junhui says. Jisoo remembers his wild-eyed panic over revealing anything less than a pristine final product to Mingyu and he’s embarrassingly, ridiculously grateful to still be counted as part of Junhui’s inner circle.

“Ah,” Jisoo says.

“Have you… talked to them? Either of them?” Junhui says.

Jisoo eyes the room’s exit. “They’re very busy?”

Junhui gives him a look. “Jisoo,” he says slowly. “Do you maybe think it might be time to stop repressing… things?”

“What? I don’t repress things, I literally tell you guys everything—”

“You’re very good at talking a lot about the issue and then immediately deflecting when it comes to anything about your own emotions,” Junhui says. “You are the best deflector I have ever seen! I think it’s because you don’t even know you’re doing it. You’re in denial about being in denial.”

It is frankly incredible that Wen Junhui is the one lecturing Jisoo on denial. Jisoo would point this out, but he’s too dumbfounded by the sheer nerve Junhui is displaying in talking about repression like he himself isn’t sublimating what is clearly a massive crush into some kind of overcompensatory hatred. “I am not in denial,” he finally manages, through the haze of disbelief.

“Look,” Junhui says, “I just—I think you should really think about why exactly you’re so…” he waves his hands vaguely, “about this whole thing.”

Luckily it’s more productive to throw himself into cramming for his next exam than engaging in self-reflection, so Jisoo does this instead. “It’s been so long since the second attack, maybe it gave up?” Jisoo suggests, resting his cheek on his data analysis textbook. “Or maybe someone else killed it already?”  
  
“We’re witches,” Minghao says grimly, without looking up from his laptop screen. “Everything comes in threes.”

 

 

 

 

 

Day of the party. He gets back to the apartment after a gruelling statistics exam, head swimming with leftover numbers, inferences. He notes Jeonghan’s shoes by the door, his laptop on the kitchen counter. “Jeonghan?” Jisoo calls.

“I’m cutting my hair,” comes Jeonghan’s voice from the general direction of the bathroom.

“What,” Jisoo says. “Why?”

Jeonghan is indeed in the bathroom, hacking away at his hair just below the ears with a pair of kitchen scissors in jerky, furious swipes. There’s tufts of hair all over the floor; at least Jeonghan’d had the foresight to put down some newspaper. He shrugs, meeting Jisoo’s eyes in the mirror like they’ve actually spent more than two waking minutes in each other’s company over the past week. “Felt like it,” he says.

Jisoo sighs and steps up to him, taking the scissors from his hands. “Want me to fix it?”

At Jeonghan’s nod, he sets the scissor blades at an angle to the strands, feathering the edges of the cut, evening the sides out. Everything registers only in details: the muted slant of sunlight through the frosted window, the soft fall of Jeonghan’s hair through his fingers, the weight of the scissors in his palm. The skin of Jeonghan’s exposed neck, unblemished, translucent, faintly warm when Jisoo’s hand brushes against it. The rush of his own pulse in his ears. They’re standing very close together. Jisoo adjusts his grip on the scissors. Snips carefully around the shell of Jeonghan’s ear.

“Done,” Jisoo says, setting the scissors down on the counter and brushing Jeonghan’s shoulders off.

“You’re the best,” Jeonghan says. He turns his head from side to side, considering his reflection. “How do I look?”

“Good,” Jisoo says. It comes out too quickly, too honestly. “I—different. But good.”

It’s been a long time since Jisoo last saw Jeonghan with hair this short, and he’s unprepared for the change, how it turns his features sharper. But Jeonghan always looks good, anyway, regardless of hair length. This much proximity is distracting; Jisoo can’t stop looking, though none of it is new to him. Just different.

“Shua,” Jeonghan says. The nickname drains some of Jisoo’s tension away, since Jisoo knows that Jeonghan never uses it when they’re being serious, but Jisoo also knows that Jeonghan knows this and isn’t above leveraging this.

“Oh, good,” Jisoo says, “are we talking? I love talking. Communication and emotional honesty and—whatever the opposite of repression is, those are my favourite things in the world—”

Jeonghan kisses him. The axis of the world shifts. Jisoo throws a hand out behind him to steady himself, ring clinking as his fingers catch on the edge of the counter, and Jeonghan shifts closer. Everything telescopes down to the cool pressure of Jeonghan’s lips, the grip of his hands on Jisoo’s waist. It feels less like falling and more like finding his balance at last, or surfacing for air, or waking up after a long, long dream. The precipice is long behind him. _Ah_ , Jisoo thinks, then, _what the fuck am I doing._

The kiss breaks. Jisoo can’t look at Jeonghan. He wants to run as far away from this room as his legs can carry him. He wants Jeonghan to kiss him again.

“Why—” Jisoo starts, then stops, unsure of how to end the question. _Why me, why now?_

“You know,” Jeonghan says, “when our minds touched, back when I was—I thought it might have been you. The soulmate principle coming back after hundreds of years.”

Jisoo’s frozen in place. “I don’t understand—”

“It’s you, Jisoo,” Jeonghan says, with the finality of a guillotine slicing down. “It’s always been you. You’re the one I…”

 _This is what you have always wanted to hear,_ some part of Jisoo is thinking, but he remembers Seungcheol and Jeonghan looking at each other like they’re the only two people in the world, and Junhui’s right, he’s never been selfish enough. He could agree to the betrothal, he could kiss Jeonghan again, but he won’t. Everything arranged so neatly on a cosmic scale, and Jisoo could have everything he wants, it’s just all happened in the wrong way.

“That’s not fair,” Jisoo bursts out. Heat needles at his eyes and he blinks it away, furious at himself. “You can’t just—spring that on me because you’re too fucking scared to deal with your feelings—”

“There aren’t any feelings,” Jeonghan says. “Soulmates—it doesn’t mean anything. Doesn’t have to mean anything. I never asked to be—I never wanted—the only person, the only one I’ve ever—it’s you.” His voice shifts, pleading. “Tell me you don’t want this. Jisoo, tell me you don’t want this and I won’t ask again.”

Jeonghan’s tells are that he has none. It’s something that’s taken Jisoo ten years to pick up—that the only time he looks completely guileless is when he’s lying. Standing here in their bathroom with the late sunlight pouring in around him Jeonghan is all cracked-open honesty and Jisoo can’t tell how much of it is truth anymore.

He could have everything he wants.

“Yoon Jeonghan,” Jisoo says, and his voice doesn’t shake at all. “I love you. You’re—you’ve always been the most important person in my life, you know that. But I can’t—I don’t want to be some kind of _crutch_ for you.”

“Is that what you think this is,” Jeonghan says. His expression shutters, going glacial, remote.  
  
“Isn’t it? You don’t want to risk your pride choosing—Seungcheol, and I’m—a safer option, or whatever—”

“Don’t tell me how I’m feeling,” Jeonghan says coldly.

“Don’t kiss me if you don’t mean it,” Jisoo says, matching his tone.

The afternoon’s gone to ice. Jisoo shuts his eyes. When he opens them again Jeonghan’s moved back, isn’t looking at him anymore.

“I think I should go,” Jisoo says, with absolutely no inflection, and pushes his way out of the room before Jeonghan can respond, or he can do something stupid, like cry.

 

 

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jisoo somehow winds up in front of Mingyu and Wonwoo’s place, desperate for familiarity that isn’t too stifling, and remembers only at the last moment that he isn’t sure if they’re actually close enough to qualify as friends he can call on in times of acute emotional distress like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for your patience! a bit more gore this chapter as well, please remember the archive warning!

 

 

 

 

 

Jisoo somehow winds up in front of Mingyu and Wonwoo’s place, desperate for familiarity that isn’t too stifling, and remembers only at the last moment that he isn’t sure if they’re actually close enough to qualify as friends he can call on in times of acute emotional distress like this. Before he can wear a groove into the floor in front of their door pacing back and forth while mulling over the flaming wreckage of his personal life, the door swings open to reveal Wonwoo in the doorway, and Jisoo’s wound so tight he nearly bursts into laughter, or maybe tears, at the sight. Wonwoo takes one look at him and wordlessly stands aside to let him in. Wonwoo is, in fact, Jisoo’s favourite person in the world.

“Who is it?” Mingyu calls, emerging from the depths of the apartment. His eyebrows fly up when he sees Jisoo standing there behind Wonwoo, then crash-land into a concerned frown as he immediately reaches for Jisoo and begins steering him into the living room. Numbly, Jisoo allows himself to be led and seated between the two of them.

“So I’m guessing there’s a reason you came to us instead of Junhui and Minghao,” Wonwoo says, “but I won’t ask. Is there anything you need in particular from us?”

“Ideally to be set on fire,” Jisoo mutters. “My exciting new ambitions in life involve becoming a pile of ashes.” Mingyu’s frown deepens. “Just—I’m really sorry for imposing—”

“You’re not imposing!” Mingyu insists.

“Thanks,” Jisoo says feebly. “Do you mind if we just—do something completely unrelated to anything Night World until it’s time to leave?”

“We have a couple of hours,” Wonwoo says. “We could watch something?”

“ _Please_ ,” Jisoo says.

So Mingyu gets up to put on _Spirited Away_ and wraps his long arms around Jisoo when he sits back down and Jisoo nearly tears up again at the physical comfort. Mingyu’s habit of being so unthinkingly tactile reminds him of Junhui, and it’s _nice_ , and on Jisoo’s other side Wonwoo sits close to him, not quite as clingy as Mingyu but a steady, reassuring presence nonetheless. They’re both so ridiculously kind, when they don’t owe him anything.

He barely registers anything that happens during the movie, the sound washing over him in a soothing blur of white noise, but at least he isn’t thinking about how Jeonghan had looked in the soft spill of light through the bathroom window. The skin of his lips tingles in what must be a placebo effect, and he presses his fingers firmly to his mouth.

“Time to go,” Wonwoo says, once the credits start rolling. “Are you ready?”

“I’ll have to be,” Jisoo says.

Mingyu uncurls from Jisoo’s side. “Do Seungcheol or Jeonghan—”

“I don’t know,” Jisoo says, aware of how brittle his voice sounds.

“I’ll let them know you’re coming with us,” Mingyu says.

The trip to Seungkwan’s is spent in skittish silence. Mingyu shoots little glances at Jisoo out of the corner of his eye but doesn’t say anything, and after a while Jisoo bites the bullet and pulls his phone out. There’s a single message from Junhui: _if you need to talk I’m always here_. Jisoo’s throat closes. Nothing from Jeonghan, which he’d expected, since Jeonghan uses his phone maybe three times a century, and Jisoo can’t say he’d be happy if Jeonghan tried to talk to him over text, but disappointment coils heavy in his stomach anyway. Jisoo shoves his phone back in his pocket and leans his head against the window and tries to clear his mind of all thoughts of his possible impending gruesome death.

“We’re going to be outside, watching the perimeter,” Wonwoo says. “You and everyone else inside will be completely safe.”

Jisoo sucks in a breath, holds it, counts to five, lets it rattle out of him in a hiss. He uncurls his fingers and holds them absolutely still against his thighs. “Okay,” Jisoo says. “I’m ready to be bait. What am I supposed to do?”

“Just, I don’t know, be visible?” Wonwoo shrugs. “We’ll let you know when to come out.”

Seungkwan’s house is already swarming with people, light and indistinct chatter drifting out of the windows. Jisoo really hopes the wards are going to hold. For a while he thinks he’s gotten over the nervousness, or has at least transcended anxiety into some state of nervousness so total it’s looped right back around to apparent calm. Then he catches sight of a set of wind chimes in the shape of runes that itch at his memory hanging from the ceiling and nausea crawls up his throat.

Hansol wanders in from another room, inexplicably still with a pair of earphones in, waves at Jisoo, and disappears into the kitchen. Jisoo finds himself wondering if Seungcheol knows his cousin is here and forcibly ejects the thought from his mind. Instead, he greets Seungkwan, Seokmin and Soonyoung, who are all clustered together on a couch in the living room. Soonyoung leaps out from where he’s wedged between Seokmin and the armrest to throw his arms around Jisoo, pressing their cheeks together. If Soonyoung wasn’t like this with absolutely everyone, Jisoo would have been alarmed; as it is, he stumbles a bit under the added weight but laughs and pats Soonyoung’s back.

“Where’s Jeonghan?” Seokmin asks, tipping a giant red cup of something probably toxic in Jisoo’s direction.

Jisoo feels his smile freeze in place. “He couldn’t make it, so it’s just me this time,” he says.

“Weird seeing you by yourself,” Soonyoung says, tugging Jisoo over to the couch.

Jisoo makes a noncommittal noise, and Seokmin smoothly redirects the course of the conversation, which flows easily after that. The lights are soft but he’s still hyperaware of each point of brightness. Seungkwan places his palm on Jisoo’s knee and Jisoo realises his leg’s been jittering the whole night.

Finally, his phone lights up in his hand.

 _**wonwoo** _  
_You ready?_

 _**me:** _  
_yeah_

 _**me:** _  
_let’s get this done_

He makes his excuses to the three of them, exchanging a look with Seungkwan, who mouths _good luck_ at him, eyes wide and worried. Pushing through the crowd, he heads for the back of the house and steps out onto the veranda, sliding the back doors shut again behind him. As soon as his foot touches the wooden deck someone calls his name from the side, and Jisoo turns to look.

“Hey, Jisoo, I was looking for you!” Seungcheol’s heading towards him, somehow radiating brightness, and Jisoo can’t help but smile back, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

“Did something come up—” Jisoo blinks, and all of a sudden Seungcheol is standing very, very close to him, close enough Jisoo can see the fan of his eyelashes against his cheek, practically crowding him back against the doors. He’s about to ask Seungcheol what he’s doing, but he never gets the chance, because Seungcheol takes the opportunity to slide a hand behind his neck, slot a knee between his thighs, and kiss him. Jisoo lets out a noise of surprise and Seungcheol laughs, stroking a thumb along Jisoo’s chin to coax his mouth open, and without thinking Jisoo tilts his head back to give him better access, hands moving up to tangle in Seungcheol’s hair.

His pinky finger’s kind of throbbing but it’s quickly forgotten in the slide of Seungcheol’s hair through his fingers and the heat of Seungcheol’s mouth on his, anchoring him in place. Seungcheol tastes sweet and a little smoky—smoke, there’s something important about that, but it’s hard to maintain coherent thought when Seungcheol breaks away to trail kisses along his jaw and down his neck, each one like a firebrand. Jisoo’s head falls back, fingers gripping Seungcheol’s hair. “Cheol—”

Seungcheol hums, pressing his mouth to the soft underside of Jisoo’s jaw. “I like it when you say my name,” he says.

His vision is going all hazy and golden and actually, everything is kind of spinning, and Jisoo didn’t think he’d had that much alcohol but the weight of Seungcheol’s body pressing against his is pretty much the only thing keeping him upright at this point. He can’t think, every nerve in his body alight as Seungcheol drags his tongue over Jisoo’s lower lip and pushes closer to him, shifting the angle to deepen the kiss. Something sears the skin of his finger—the ring?—in a burst of pain intense enough Jisoo hisses, and thinks— _fire_.

“You’re not—” Jisoo gasps out, as Seungcheol moves down again, sets his teeth against his collarbone. “You’re not Seungcheol.”

The dragon stops. Draws back. “Not bad,” it says, and smiles with altogether too many teeth. Before Jisoo can react it pins him back against the door with a forearm across his throat, and it’s unfortunate that the dragon is still wearing Seungcheol’s skin because honestly, he’s kind of turned on, which is definitely the last thing he needs right now.

He’s going to die. Jisoo understands this in its totality. He is going to die right here in Seungkwan’s backyard with a house full of peacefully unknowing people behind him and all he can think is that he hopes the cleanup job won’t be too bad.

And out of nowhere, Jeonghan slams into the dragon from the side, and they crash through the balcony and onto the lawn in a glittering waterfall of shattered glass. They tussle for a while before disappearing into the forest and Jisoo just stands there for a moment feeling like his mind’s been severed from his body and is floating somewhere above himself. Near-death experiences and everything; he’s an expert at them by now. But there’s an expanding, staticky ache in his chest, seeing Jeonghan now, that drags him back down.

All of him feels like a raw nerve. He’s useless and human and needs to run in the opposite direction as fast as he can, which is of course why his legs carry him after Jeonghan instead, and come to an abrupt, unwilling stop at the treeline like they’ve been enveloped in concrete.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing here,” Jeonghan yells, ducking under the dragon’s arm to drive a fist into its stomach.

“I’m trying not to be,” Jisoo shouts, “but my legs won’t move—”

“Hope you don’t mind waiting there while I deal with this,” the dragon says sweetly, in Seungcheol’s voice.

A blur of movement, too fast for Jisoo’s eyes to track. When it resolves, Minghao and Junhui have arrived, hands already sparking. Junhui reaches into his pockets and scatters a handful of stones onto the ground and two identical copies of himself shimmer into existence, flanking him as they move to circle the dragon.

Jeonghan and the dragon pull apart, tension crackling through the wary distance between them.

“What did you do with Seungcheol?” Jeonghan hisses.

“The little prince is sleeping,” the dragon says, but before it’s even finished speaking Jeonghan’s already launching himself forward and the fight begins again.

And Jisoo’s no expert but he can tell Jeonghan’s gotten faster since the last time, the golden witch-fire conjured up by Minghao and all three Junhuis brighter than ever, but he can also tell it won’t be enough to level the playing field. Where are Mingyu and Wonwoo? He squeezes his eyes shut, hoping that they’re safe. Ideally on their way, but even more importantly alive.

One of the Junhuis gets stabbed right through the neck and bursts into golden dust, and as it clears a grey wolf leaps into the fray beside Minghao, Wonwoo close behind. A thin column of fire spins from the fingers of one remaining Junhui to the other, and Minghao grabs it around the middle and launches it javelin-style into the dragon’s shoulder.

The dragon looks _livid_ , the expression twisting Seungcheol’s features beyond recognisability. It yanks the spear out and tosses it aside, where it extinguishes itself, and the wound begins to close up. Its limbs thicken and warp, skin sheening over with scales, jaw elongating into a snout bristling with teeth. A pair of enormous leathery wings erupts from its back as it shifts forward onto all fours, and—that’s a dragon. They’ve gotten it to revert into its true form, which is what they wanted to do, but now they’re all going to die. That’s a thought Jisoo’s had far too many times over the last couple of months. The dragon unleashes a roar that seems to reverberate through his bones, shaking the ground beneath his feet.

“Who woke you?” Jeonghan shouts.

“Shouldn’t you know?” the dragon says, its voice a rumble of subharmonics.

Jeonghan’s eyes narrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“We made our own alliances,” the dragon sings.

Jeonghan springs onto the dragon’s back and it claws at him, trying to shake him off, but he’s got one hand braced on its shoulder and the other on the join between its wing and back, and with a snarl he rips the membrane, oily black fluid spurting out. The dragon shrieks. Its left wing flops over, barely attached to its back, dragging on the ground, and if it was angry before that’s nothing on the fury emanating from it now. It twists, throws Jeonghan off, and Jeonghan just manages to catch his balance and land on his feet.

The dragon lashes out at them, but the unbalanced weight of the torn wing throws its timing off and it misses. A second one of the Junhuis flickers, vanishes, and the remaining Junhui collapses to the ground. The dragon advances on him, lifting a leg to strike; Jisoo flinches but Junhui isn’t there anymore, reappearing on the other side of the clearing in Jihoon’s arms. There’s blood trickling out of Jihoon’s ears, his nose, the corner of his mouth, though he doesn’t seem to notice. “Sorry I’m late,” Jihoon calls.

Junhui levers himself back onto his feet with Jihoon’s support, forehead creased, and says something to Jihoon that Jisoo doesn’t catch, but Jihoon just shakes his head and disappears again. And then he’s back, and his arm is wrapped around Seungcheol’s waist.

Seungcheol is dazed, pale, bleeding from a scrape along his forehead, but he’s blessedly alive. There’s no time for relief, though, because the dragon’s tail catches Mingyu square in the chest and he flies backwards, crashing into a tree trunk with a wet crunch. When Jisoo catches Seungcheol’s gaze he sees Seungcheol’s mouth form the shape of his name, but then Wonwoo’s kneeling in front of him, palms pressed to the ground.

“Can you move?” Wonwoo says. “Fuck—I can’t undo whatever’s holding you here—”

“It’s okay,” Jisoo says, though it is evidently not. “It hasn’t tried to come at me yet?”

Wonwoo frowns. “I promised you we’d keep you safe,” he says, and jumps right back into the fight.

Jisoo glances back at Mingyu. Seungcheol has his hands laid on him, forehead creased in concentration, but the gash on Mingyu’s chest isn’t closing up. He’s taking Mingyu’s shape, Jisoo realises. A growl rumbles out from Seungcheol’s chest, golden fur shimmering over him, and there’s a massive wolf standing there, hackles raised, and then he launches himself at the dragon’s neck.

This time the dragon pulls deftly out of the way, apparently already having adjusted to the shift in weight, and a leg flicks out towards Junhui. Wonwoo ducks in front of Junhui and deflects the blow with a shimmering oval of fire. “Watch my back,” he says, and doesn’t pause for Junhui’s nod before he leaps forward and around the dragon’s legs. It swipes at him and Wonwoo narrowly misses getting impaled right between his shoulderblades, a shield of flames blinking into existence over them.

“Jeon Wonwoo!” Junhui screams. “If you die I will _kill you_ —”

“Have more faith in me,” Wonwoo calls, and with clinical precision he unleashes a laser stream of fire that severs the broken wing completely from the dragon’s back.

They’re halfway there. Just one more wing to go. And Jisoo’s pretty sure he hasn’t breathed once this entire time but—there’s still hope. They might actually be able to pull this off. His heart is a hummingbird caught between his ribs, halfway in flight.

Then the dragon turns and punches a fistful of claws right through Wonwoo’s chest. He makes a noise of surprise, eyes widening, and the dragon yanks its claws out, shining dark with blood. Wonwoo crumples to the ground without a sound, leg folding under him at an angle legs are not intended to fold at. Junhui tears free of Jihoon’s grasp and bolts over towards Wonwoo, hands glimmering with faint orange flame, but Minghao’s already there, wrapping his arms around Junhui’s shoulders, half in embrace, half in restraint.

“You can’t heal him,” Minghao is saying, “you don’t have enough energy, you’ll die, hyung, listen to me—”

“Get off me,” Junhui hisses, “you’re wasting time he doesn’t have—”

“I’ve got him,” Jihoon interrupts, appearing beside Wonwoo’s body. When he looks up at Jisoo the whites of his eyes are speckled with burst blood vessels, and his nosebleed shows no signs of stopping.

“Jihoon—” Jisoo starts.

“I can’t overturn the dragon’s magic,” Jihoon mutters, “or I’d teleport you both out of here—”

“Please don’t try, you look like you’re dying,” Jisoo says.

Jihoon grimaces. “I’m not anywhere near my limits,” he says, swiping a hand over his eyes, but since the blood is still welling up everywhere all this does is make his face even more of a gory mess.

“Blood!” yells Junhui. Jisoo’s head snaps back towards him. “That’s it, that’s the condition— _in blood, the final price is paid_ —for the blue fire, you need—”

“What?” Jisoo yells back.

There is no elaboration because in rapid succession the dragon bats Minghao away, skewers Junhui neatly through the midsection, and tosses Junhui aside. Jihoon swears, flash-stepping to Junhui and pressing a hand to his stomach. He gets his other arm under Junhui’s shoulders and they disappear together, and like that Jeonghan and Seungcheol are the only ones left standing. And Jisoo, but he hardly counts when all he’s done so far is make a decent impression of a statue and he’s only still alive because the dragon’s saving him until last.

Jeonghan and Seungcheol fight like they’ve had years and years of practice battling together, boy and wolf coordinating attacks with uncanny, seamless grace. They’re tiring, though, growing sluggish, and Jeonghan must have stopped healing a while ago because his shirt is staining dark, and Seungcheol was already injured when he arrived, and he knows it’s a losing battle, but they’re still so beautiful, the two of them, all of Jisoo’s faith carried between them.

Seungcheol takes a running leap for the dragon’s back, teeth and claws raking down its remaining wing, cleaving flesh from bone in a mess of black blood. Jisoo freezes, barely believing—did they actually manage it?—but the wing doesn’t fall to the ground like the other one did. He hadn’t been able to rip the entire thing off, after all.

The dragon takes Jeonghan out first, catching him in the ribs with a careless sideways swipe, and the air rushes out of Jisoo’s lungs. Then the dragon pins Seungcheol down underfoot, and Seungcheol whines, scrabbling at the limb pressing down on his neck.

“So this what has become of the blood of the dragons,” the dragon says. “What a shame!”

Its claws cinch tight and Seungcheol jerks once, twice, and stops moving.

The dragon turns. Fixes its flat black eyes squarely on Jisoo. So it’s just him, now. He refuses to let himself think about the bodies littering the clearing, or Junhui and Jihoon bleeding out somewhere else, or everything he didn’t get the chance to say to any of them, all the people he’s found himself caring so fiercely about. All he ever does is stand by while other people fight his battles, and he’s absolutely sick of it, and for a moment his mind is swept blank and clear with fury.

“Being awake doesn’t really suit you, you know,” Jisoo says. His voice doesn’t shake, though his hands do. “Any chance you might want to go back to sleep?”

“I’ve had enough of sleep,” the dragon says. “The world is a lot more fun than it used to be! It’s time for everything sleeping to wake up again, I think. Rise and shine! That’s what the one who woke me said.”

All of the dragons bound to sleep, beneath the earth’s surface. Who knows how many, just like this one. Jisoo takes an involuntary step backwards. “Who?”

“I’m not the one you should be asking. Though _he’s_ probably dead, by now. Or will be very soon,” the dragon says. It steps forward, deliberate.

Jisoo casts his mind out wildly for something, anything to stall for time. “Why didn’t you kill me earlier?” Jisoo says. “Why are you letting me run?”

“What would be the point of that? I have all the time in the world.”

Rush of blood in his ears. Everything sounds as if it’s coming from very far away. Jisoo takes another step back, and his heel catches on something and he trips. His hands splay out behind him to break his fall, and his fist closes on the rock he’d stumbled over.

“Oh, child,” the dragon says. Almost pitying, now. “There’s nothing left for you to hide behind.”

It’s not the end. The real Witch Child is still out there, unknowing, a stranger to their heritage. It’s a shame they couldn’t have done more—found them and warned them somehow, bought them more time—but so long as the Witch Child is alive there’s a chance for the world to survive. Or—

Jisoo’s fingers tighten around the rock in his hand. Adrenaline sparks through him with painful vigour; he’s almost lightheaded with sudden clarity. There’s only the thinnest part of the membrane joining the dragon’s last wing to its back. Worth a shot, surely. They’d gotten so close. He owes at least this much to everyone, to himself. It’s such a beautiful night, light through the lattice of branches overhead, the clean smell of pine overwhelming everything else. The rock digs into the meat of his palm, a bright point of pain.

The dragon saunters forward, slow. Nearly close enough. Jisoo shifts onto one knee and braces himself.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I am a witch and the child of witches,” Jisoo calls, the words rising to the surface from some deep and ancient place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for waiting!!
> 
> parts of the spell in this chapter also taken directly from witchlight.

 

 

 

 

 

And just before he’s about to jump he stops. What had Junhui meant, earlier, by _condition_? The memory surfaces in shards—a torn lip, Junhui’s lilting voice, iron on his tongue, something seething beneath his skin. Blood. Of course it’s blood, the very foundation of the Night World and its complicated tangle of birthrights and lineages and blood feuds; everything comes back down to blood, what else had he expected?

For half a second he falters, looking down at the jagged edge of the rock clasped between his fingers. Then he grits his teeth and gashes his palm open, barely feeling the sting of torn flesh, the warm trickle of blood down his hand. And the moment he breaks through the skin a perfect calm settles over him. He knows exactly what he has to do.

He stands up. The periphery of his vision begins to glow blue. _Names have power_ , he thinks, distantly, as though the thought is not his own at all. “I am a witch and the child of witches,” Jisoo calls, the words rising to the surface from some deep and ancient place.

The dragon, its remaining wing attached with a ragged mess of half-torn sinew and ligament, rumbles out a deep snarl so low Jisoo feels its aftershock vibrations more than hears it, but it doesn’t move—can’t move.

The words keep tumbling out unbidden. Jisoo cups his hands. “Mine was the hand that buried you in silence. Mine was the hand that took your power, and the hand that will take it once more. The hand of the Goddess is my hand now. I name you—”

The dragon is screaming now, claws crackling with black energy, but it’s so dim in comparison to the growing lightning twisting around Jisoo’s fingers. He doesn’t know what language he’s speaking anymore, the words rolling off his tongue like sparks in distorted chorus. _Names_ , Jisoo thinks again, with the clarity of a struck bell; every single one of the dragon’s names. There’s only the blue fire sweeping through him, all of him alight, a conduit, something between his palms blazing brighter and brighter and brighter until he has to shut his eyes against it but the afterimage is still there, a fountain of pure, absolute white starbursting out into blue at the edges.

He shunts his palms outwards. Flame without heat. A sound like thunder, echoing longer than should be possible.

When the ringing fades, Jisoo opens his eyes. The dragon’s completely obliterated. There’s not a trace of it remaining, not even the torn-off wing that was lying on the ground. The blue fire roils under his skin like a living thing; he could split the earth open or sculpt it like clay into mountains. He could stop the heartbeat of every single person in the clearing if he wanted to. Even with his eyes closed he can see a sort of ghostly flame superimposed over their bodies, and he knows without knowing that what he’s seeing is their life energy. There’s Minghao’s, Mingyu’s, Wonwoo’s, and Jihoon’s and Junhui’s a little further away past the circle of trees, all weaker than he’d like, but stable. Jeonghan’s, familiar to him as his own. And Seungcheol’s, close enough to Jeonghan’s that the edges are blurring together. They’re both guttering out, going alarmingly dark, so Jisoo surrounds them with his own fire, like cupping his hands around a candle flame to shield it from wind, and gradually they brighten. As soon as he’s sure they will hold steady, he withdraws, frowning at the way both flames are tinged blue now, and that’s when he notices the woman approaching him from between the trees.

At first Jisoo thinks she’s ancient, maybe older than his grandmother. Then he blinks and she’s a little girl, then a young woman, though her features haven’t changed at all, smooth and strangely ageless. “Look, this is nice and all but my friends are dying so I’d really like to get back,” Jisoo says.

“Don’t worry about it,” she says. “Time isn’t actually passing right now, I’d be a pretty shit goddess of magic if I couldn’t even pause things for a bit.”

“Oh,” Jisoo says. “Okay. Uh—hi.”

The goddess seems amused. “Hi.”

“Thanks for—everything back there,” he says. “With the blue fire. And the dragon.”

“No need to thank me,” she says. “It was all you, Witch Child.”

For the first time, the title feels like it fits, settling somewhere in his chest. “You’re _the_ goddess, right,” Jisoo says. “The one Jun mentions.”

“Yeah, that’d be me,” she says. “Ah, I love that kid, he’s a fucking good witch. You all are! Good generation, this one. Glad you’re the ones dealing with the apocalypse.”

“I’ll, uh, let him know?” Jisoo says. The goddess smiles indulgently. “So… what happens now?”

“This is just the beginning, I’m afraid,” she says. “Your real work is yet to come.”

If killing a dragon didn’t quality for real work, Jisoo doesn’t particularly want to know what does. “Any clues?”

“Nah,” she says. “I’m sure you’ll be able to figure it out yourself when it happens.”

“Thanks, really helpful,” he mutters, and the goddess laughs, a surprisingly human sound. She looks like she’s in her forties, now, high cheekbones, faint clusters of lines around her eyes. Kind of familiar, if Jisoo thinks about it, almost like— “You know, you kind of look like my economics professor,” Jisoo says.

The goddess tilts her head. “Do I now.”

“Yeah…” The more he looks at her the more certain he grows.

“Isn’t that something!” She winks at him. “Well, bye for now. I’m cheering for you all!”

“Aren’t you a goddess, why do you need us to save the world or whatever,” Jisoo starts to say, but she’s already gone. He blinks, and the flames fade away from his vision, and it’s like the earth takes a breath, resumes turning on its axis.

Jisoo picks his way back to the clearing. Jeonghan’s pulled himself into a sitting position, Seungcheol sprawled over his lap, still in wolf form.

“You dumb puppy,” Jeonghan is saying, laughing wetly. He buries his fingers in the ruff of Seungcheol’s neck, and Seungcheol noses at his shoulder. “Now you’re stuck with this form forever. What if you hate it later?”

Seungcheol barks and shoves his snout into Jeonghan’s other palm, and the disbelieving gentleness in Jeonghan’s gaze is too overwhelming to keep watching from the side.

“Uh,”Jisoo says eloquently, trying not to feel like an intruder. “Hi.”

Jeonghan doesn’t look surprised to see him there. He pats the ground beside him, and Jisoo comes over to sit down. Seungcheol lifts his head in greeting, ears pricking up; Jisoo hesitantly drops his hand on Seungcheol’s head, and when he leans into the contact, begins stroking between his ears.

“So what the fuck just happened,” Jeonghan says.

“No idea,” Jisoo says. “The blue fire kind of took over. It was like… something was telling me what to say, and then whatever I did vaporised the dragon, I guess.”

“Right,” Jeonghan says. “But—it’s dead? You’re sure?”

“Absolutely sure. I think I was doing a binding spell at first but I ended up going a bit overboard, I’m not sure—oh, and I should probably let you guys know,” Jisoo says. “So basically, you were both kind of… dying? Possibly actually dead at one point? And I brought you back. I don’t really know what I did, but I think there’s some blue fire inside you guys now.”

Seungcheol shifts back into human form, and _okay_ , he is not wearing anything, but if nobody’s going to mention it then Jisoo won’t either. “So what you’re saying is that you… used the blue fire to _bring us back to life_ ,” Seungcheol says slowly. “You tied your life force to ours?”

“Yeah, something like that? And—hey, if that’s not good enough for the Council, then they can fuck right off,” Jisoo says brightly. Another thought occurs to him. “Also, Jeonghan, if you want me to do your fancy lamia blood tie thing to bring the vampires into the fold we can do that right now, it’s just a blood exchange, right? Do you have a knife or something? I had to use a rock just then and it was pretty gross, even if I can just heal myself afterwards.”

Jeonghan frowns and places a hand on his forearm. “Are you feeling okay?” he says.

“Better than ever!” Jisoo says. He feels—effervescent, for lack of a better way to put it. Like his blood’s been replaced with bubbles, buoying his entire body upwards.

Jeonghan and Seungcheol exchange glances, one of those annoying communicative ones Seungcheol used to do with Wonwoo and Mingyu. Probably a soulmate thing. Shortcut to an intimacy developed over years. “I think the fact that you brought us back to life is probably good enough for the lamia too,” Jeonghan says dryly. “Let’s leave the blood exchanges until you’re less…” He trails off.

“Okay,” Jisoo agrees. “But—at least it looks like you two sorted things out?”

Jeonghan scowls, but a pink flush is creeping up his neck. “We had a talk,” he says.

“Soulmate telepathy,” Seungcheol adds, looking much more enthusiastic about the concept. “Also—well. Near-death—actual death experiences, they’re great for bonding.”

Jeonghan shoves Seungcheol’s shoulder without any real force. “I guess you weren’t that bad of a fighter,” he says. “Eight out of ten, would team up with again, but maybe without the dying, soulmate.”

“ _Eight_ out of ten? Yoon Jeonghan, I swear, I will actually kill you for real—”

“No, you won’t,” Jeonghan says, with his most insufferably assured smile, and Seungcheol groans and tips his head forward onto Jeonghan’s knee, apparently unable to counter this; Jisoo knows the feeling. Jeonghan slants the smile at Jisoo, going conspiratorial at the edges, and it’s impossible not to return it.

“I dreamed about you, you know,” Jisoo says, to Seungcheol. “Before I met you. I think it might’ve been this moment, actually.”

“Premonitions,” Seungcheol says, turning his head and yawning. “Aren’t they supposed to be a pretty big sign of a lost witch?”

“Hey, you didn’t tell me _I_ was in this dream,” Jeonghan says. “Also, I’m pretty sure you said it wasn’t ‘that kind of dream’, but Seungcheol is literally naked right now.” He shakes his head sadly. “Wow, Hong Jisoo, I can’t believe you would lie to me about this—”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, that’s because you weren’t, and he wasn’t,” Jisoo says. “Maybe it wasn’t a premonition after all.”

“Or maybe the future changed,” Seungcheol says.

Jisoo hums. “Everything is fated to be once it’s already happened,” he says. The bright, bubbly feeling is fading, now, bringing a headache uncomfortably reminiscent of the beginnings of a hangover. “Jeonghan,” he says, and Jeonghan glances up. “I’m—sorry. About what I said to you, before.” Had it really only been earlier that afternoon? “I accused you of being scared but—I was the one who was scared, I think.”

“Well, you weren’t wrong,” Jeonghan says, a rueful twist to his mouth. “Are we talking about—this, now?”

“Yeah,” Jisoo says. “If that’s okay?”

“Um,” Seungcheol says. “Should I be here for this conversation? Or, like… clothed?”

A low noise from the other side of the clearing interrupts them. “Oh, fuck—we should check on the others first,” Jisoo says, wincing.

“I’ll go,” Jeonghan says, getting to his feet. Jisoo stands up as well, then hesitates, glancing down at Seungcheol.

“You chose your shape,” Jisoo says. “During the fight.”

Seungcheol blinks at him. “Yeah,” he says, not quite a question but not quite a statement, either.

“You wanted to be a bird,” Jisoo murmurs.

His mouth curls. “It’s alright,” he says. “I was able to help. That’s all that really matters. I’m happy with that—”

“JEON WONWOO,” bellows Junhui’s voice, and Jisoo turns to look in time to catch the rest of Junhui’s body storming into view. “STAY RIGHT THE FUCK THERE, DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT RUNNING AWAY—”

“My leg is injured,” Wonwoo says, at a much more reasonable volume. Jisoo frowns; he thought the blue fire had taken care of everything, but clearly he’d missed a spot. “I can’t run anywhere.”

This appears to make Junhui even more incensed than he was before. “I hate you,” Junhui yells. “I thought you were _dead_ —do you know how much I—”

“Well, I’m not,” Wonwoo says. His mouth curves up in a smile. “Hey, are you crying—”

Junhui lets out a wordless scream of frustration, stalks up to Wonwoo, fists his hands in the front of his shirt, and proceeds to engage him in the angriest kiss Jisoo has ever seen. Minghao, awake at last and tucked under Mingyu’s arm, snorts. “Took hyung long enough to figure it out,” he says.

Jisoo opens his mouth to offer to heal Wonwoo properly, but Junhui beats him to it, placing his hands on Wonwoo’s leg and viciously pushing orange fire into him.

“Your bedside manner sucks,” Wonwoo says.

“You know what else sucks,” Junhui fumes, “your _ability to stay alive_. I’d kill you myself if it didn’t mean I wasted all that energy healing you in the first place.”

“Aw,” Wonwoo says, still grinning. “You’d break the Code for me?”

“Don’t push your luck,” Junhui says, “but fuck the Code,” and kisses him again.

Jihoon arrives more sedately, looking less like he’s bleeding from every pore than the last time Jisoo saw him, which is a relief. He’s also carrying a bundle of clothes, which he tosses at Seungcheol. “You can stop violating public indecency laws anytime now,” he calls.

“I owe you my life,” Seungcheol says fervently, pulling on a pair of pants.

Jihoon purses his mouth and makes an unimpressed sound, but there’s a definite upturn to the corners of his lips. He passes a critical eye over Junhui, who is now draped over Wonwoo like a baby sloth.

“I’m fine!” Junhui calls. “Don’t worry about me!”

Jihoon’s expression softens very slightly, and he nods. “Congratulations,” he says, tilting his head towards Jisoo. “Witch Child.”

“What did I tell you,” Junhui crows. “Our Jisoo is all grown up and killing dragons by himself—”

“I am _older than you_ ,” Jisoo says. The relief hearing it said aloud by his friends and knowing it to be true this time is exhausting in how total it is. “But—thank you. You were the one who figured it out. That I needed blood.”

“I should have figured it out earlier,” Junhui says, “and really we should be thanking you for saving our lives.”

“Well, we’ll actually have to let the Council know everything now,” Minghao says. 

“That’ll be a headache and a half,” Wonwoo says, making a halfhearted gesture towards the bridge of his nose as though to push up an absent pair of glasses. “The apocalypse might even come before the Council decides to believe us—”

“We have to tell Circle Daybreak!” Mingyu exclaims. “I forgot, that was why we came here—”

“We’re all Daybreakers now, aren’t we,” Jeonghan says, mournful. “Transitive properties or something… the enemy fraternisation was coming from inside the house all along…”

“Goddess deliver us,” Junhui mumbles.

“Incidentally, the goddess of magic is Professor Hwang, in case you were wondering,” Jisoo says, pushing his index finger against Junhui’s shoulder, “and she called you a ‘fucking good witch.’ Direct quote.”

“ _What_ ,” Junhui says, jumping to his feet and nearly elbowing Wonwoo in the nose. “What! What do you mean? When did you even have the time to _commune_ —the goddess talked about _me_? What? She knows who I am? Me, specifically? Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Jisoo says. “She said your name and everything.”

Junhui looks halfway to passing out. Minghao reaches up to give him a bolstering slap on the back.

“Also, why does nobody seem surprised that my economics professor is a literal deity?” Jisoo says.

“I mean, if it was going to be anyone,” Jeonghan says, shrugging.

Apparently recovered, Junhui loops his arms around Wonwoo’s neck in a gesture presumably now intended to be affectionate and not a threat to Wonwoo’s life. “We’ll get a head start on all the bureaucracy stuff,” he says cheerfully. “You three… should talk through… Night World royalty things, you know what I mean.”

Mingyu makes a small _ohh_ noise under his breath, getting to his feet and tugging Minghao up with him. Jihoon steps over towards Junhui’s other side, opposite Wonwoo, and the five of them file back in the direction of Seungkwan’s house.

That leaves the three of them alone in the moonlight sifting down through the canopy, almost bright enough to pass for daytime.

“So,” Jeonghan says.

“So,” Seungcheol echoes.

Jisoo scrubs a hand through his hair. “Let’s not—let’s not dwell too much on what happened when we weren’t talking to each other,” he says. “Just—where are we going? From here on?”

Surprisingly, it’s Jeonghan who answers. “The most obvious solution to nearly every romantic problem currently plaguing us—” he gestures vaguely between the three of them, “—is that we should, you know, just all date each other.”

“I don’t know,” Jisoo says slowly.

A flash of something vulnerable in Jeonghan’s eyes. “You don’t want to?”

“No—that’s not it, I—want to,” Jisoo says, surprised by the weight of the truth in the words. “If you both do. It’s just… it seems too—neat, to work out?”

“Why shouldn’t it be neat?” Jeonghan says. “Don’t you think we deserve something uncomplicated after everything we’ve had to go through?”

“I mean, you two are soulmates,” Jisoo says. “It’s just—you’ll always pick each other first, won’t you? Even if you don’t mean to do it.”

“See, that’s what _I_ was going to say about you two,” Seungcheol says. “Because you’ve loved each other so much longer. There isn’t any magic that can substitute for that.”

“And you and Jisoo are the ones in the political marriage,” Jeonghan says. “But don’t you think we should give at least it a shot first, before we start forecasting doom and gloom for the end of all things?”

A beat of silence stretching over the space between them. There’s a stubborn set to Jeonghan’s mouth.

“Here’s what I think,” Seungcheol says, at last. “I think that I really like you both, and I want to try. Even if there’s a chance everything will crash and burn later down the track. I think—we care enough about each other to try to stop something like that from happening. We’ll make it work.”

If everything crashes and burns. An entirely real possibility, if the apocalypse doesn’t finish them off first. _I don’t want to be left behind,_ Jisoo thinks. _I don’t want…_

But Jeonghan is looking at him, steady and warm and familiar as he has always been, and Seungcheol’s gaze, too, is earnest in its resolution. Faith that demands to be reciprocated.

“Okay,” Jisoo says, and it’s like something slices itself free in his chest, drifting upwards towards the sky. “Okay, let’s try this.”

Jeonghan kisses him first, hands gentle on his waist, and Jisoo threads his fingers through Jeonghan’s hair, presses closer. After he pulls back he drops his head onto Jeonghan’s shoulder for a few moments, breathing him in, the best friend he’s loved for so long he doesn’t remember what it’s like not to, anymore. In retrospect he probably should have realised he wanted to kiss him a lot earlier than this, but better late than never.

He moves back. Seungcheol flutters his eyelashes at Jeonghan, and Jeonghan rolls his eyes but steps forward to lean their foreheads together, before kissing him, too, brief but deep and easy.

Then Seungcheol crinkles his eyes up at Jisoo. “Ah,” he says. “Are we the only ones who haven’t kissed before?”

“I did kiss the dragon, though,” Jisoo says. The resulting expression on Seungcheol’s face is priceless. “It was shapeshifted into you, should that count?”

Jeonghan chokes. “I can’t believe your first kiss with Seungcheol wasn’t even with Seungcheol,” he says.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you from the first time I saw you and even the prehistoric eldritch monster got to kiss you before I did,” Seungcheol complains. “That’s hardly fair.”

“Let’s make up for it,” Jisoo says, and pulls Seungcheol in by the back of his neck.

Seungcheol’s mouth is warm and pliant against his, and the kiss is much sweeter now that Jisoo isn’t being hypnotised by some sort of draconic sorcery and it’s actually Seungcheol he’s kissing. When the kiss breaks Seungcheol keeps his hands where they’re cupping Jisoo’s face, thumbs careful where they press against Jisoo’s cheeks, and then he ducks in again, leaning up to brush his mouth against Jisoo’s temple. Unbearably soft. Jisoo feels himself go bright red, and Jeonghan laughs, throwing his arms around both of their shoulders.

“So what’s next?” Jisoo asks. “As in—in terms of the end of the world.”

“We have to try and convince the witches to join Circle Daybreak,” Seungcheol says. “But we have you, which should make the process a lot easier. Ideally we’d get some of the less traditional lamia families on our side as well, so—Jeonghan, that’s all in your hands.”

“Well,” Jeonghan says. “We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us, then.”

The apocalypse is still coming. The entire rest of the Night World is apparently against them. Jisoo’s powers require him to shed blood to unlock them, which seems unfairly weighted against him, but—high risk, high return, he supposes. And he won’t have to do it alone.

“I think we’ll be okay,” Jisoo says. Means it.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's it! thank you so much for sticking with me this far ❤ i really thought i was done with kpop in 2014 but i guess kpop was not done with me. i hope you enjoyed! as always, any feedback you might have is greatly appreciated! feel free to drop it in the comments or in my [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/inheritance).
> 
> i'm on twitter [@juncheolsoo](https://twitter.com/juncheolsoo), come say hi!


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